


Untitled CBAU

by eyesascandles



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesascandles/pseuds/eyesascandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie Martinelli is the new rookie pitcher for a brand new team in the All-American Girls Profession Baseball League. It’s the biggest break she’s ever had, but nerves and pressure are choking her performance. That is, until a beautiful brunette starts attending games. She cheers loudly for Angie every week, and becomes something of a good luck charm.</p><p>Angie decides to befriend the woman–after noticing her perfect lipstick, fabulous legs, and English accent–and finds out her name is Peggy Carter. She’s an agent who’s relocated to Chicago to help famed scientist Enrico Fermi. (Someone has been sabotaging the laboratories, and Peggy has been hired as a consultant to figure it out. Peggy doesn’t tell Angie this.)</p><p>Despite some reservations, Peggy finds herself drawn to the fiery, athletic woman, and a friendship blossoms. Soon she’s immersed in a life she never knew was possible, meeting people of all walks of life. She also finds Angie Martinelli to be much more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Angie couldn't throw up any more.

She ran a sweaty hand through her dark blonde curls, and wondered, as her roommate Deborah had also asked, why the hell she had bothered to curl her hair two hours before a baseball game.

"You're just going to sweat it all out," Deborah said, matter-of-factly, shaking her head. Her fluffy black floof of hair vibrated with the movement. "You do that every week. You sweat, you pitch, you run. Your curls disappear. So why have 'em in the first place?" 

Angie, as she always did, rolled her eyes. How many times had she repeated the motto?

"All-American girls next door," she sighed, looking out of her fifth story window to the street below. It was a quiet for a Friday afternoon. Was that because it was supposed to rain later? She swallowed and tried not to think of her nausea.

"Oh, right, the charm school bullshit." Deborah said with a roll of her dark eyes, sitting down to put on her shiny black shoes. "It's not all bullshit," Angie said.   
"Just most of it," retorted Deborah. Angie smiled ruefully. "Yeah, okay. But some of it makes sense, I guess. The women's league has an image to maintain." When Deborah shook her head, Angie grinned and began sashaying around their tiny quarters, trying to channel her idol, Rita Hayworth. She ran into the table instead and rubbed her side. "A woman should know how to walk, how to talk, how to sit, how to dress and how to act. Because that's how you land a man."   
  
"That IS what every woman wants," Deborah said, crossing her arms, sarcasm dripping from her words like drops of water from their bathroom sink.  "Well, not every woman," she admitted. "Not us," she added, slyly. Deborah laughed out loud, and Angie forgot, for a brief moment, the storm brewing in her stomach.  
  
"Well, honey, I've gotta head out." Deborah, the only person Angie knew who could make a housemaid's uniform look attractive, walked over to Angie and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't you scare yourself out of pitching a great game tonight, you hear me?"  
  
"Yeah, I hear ya," Angie said. There was a pause. Then Angie instinctively grabbed Deborah in a brief hug. Deborah's body was warm and soft and brown, and she always smelled like cinnamon, somehow.  
  
"I'm so nervous," she whispered. "What if today is worse than last week?" She shuddered at the remembrance of her inaugural game, where she'd gotten exactly one strikeout and had walked nearly everyone else. There may have been boos.  
  
Deborah held her for a brief moment. "Honey, first of all, nothing could be worse than last week, so put that thought right outta your head," Deborah said gently. She had a knack for making a joke out of even the worst of circumstances:  when Angie's mother had hesitated to shake her hand upon finding out Angie would be living with a colored girl, Deborah had said, "Oh it's alright ma'am, it's clean. The color won't come off on ya, I promise!" Even Angie's father had let out a resentful chuckle.  
  
"And baby? You've been practing SO hard this week. Harder than I ever seen. I seen you pitch. You're incredible! You just gotta relax and not think about it too much." She gave Angie a final squeeze. "Now I gotta go, girl, or I'll miss my bus. Do you want me to get fired?"  
  
Angie rolled her eyes again. "Like Millie would ever fire you. If you bat your eyelashes at her she just melts!" Millie, the tall, pretty blonde daughter of the family who owned the big house in Evanston that Deborah cleaned, had taken a fancy to Deborah some months prior, and Deborah told Angie the feeling had been mutual. Neither Deborah nor Millie would admit this to each other, however, to Angie's consternation.  
  
"I don't know why you don't just ask her out," Angie continued. "She's practically putty in your hands and you know it." Deborah laughed her husky laugh again, her dark eyes mischievous. "Oh, hush. You really think some rich white girl--" she looked off wistfully, as she always did when this conversation came up. A shadow passed over her face for a split second before passing, just as quickly as it had appeared.  
  
"Now I'm leaving for sure. I'll see you late alright? You win that game now," she said with a wink, leaving in a bustle of dress, shoes, and bag.  
  
Angie had felt a little better after Deborah's reassurance, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, all she could think of was failure.  
  
She'd been so ready, so prepared. Sure she was young, but she was the best pitcher, male or female, in all of the North Side, and she'd impressed every agent that had ever seen her play. Last summer, she'd pitched three no-hitters. Afterwards, Barry Roger, the manager of a brand-new women's baseball team in Chicago, had been so impressed that he sought her out and offered her a job on the spot. He was short and excitable, and as he talked his hands flew. It had been the happiest day of her life.  
  
That day felt like a hundred years ago now. After the abysmal failure of two weeks ago, and the not-really-that-much-better performance of last week, Angie had to wonder if her 15 minutes of fame would soon be over. Coach Mary Jean Branch, the sole female coach in the entire women's league, had tried valiantly to hide her disappointment after Angie's unimpressive second game. Angie thanked Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that Mr. Roger hadn't been able to attend the game. She couldn't stand the thought of disappointing him too.  
  
Angie shook herself, willing herself to stop thinking negatively. She had to do better this week. She couldn't lose this job. Her father had threatened to send her to secretary school, "When," he said, "you fail at this ball playing."  
Angie Martinelli was NOT a secretary.

  
And she could not, would not, throw up again.  
                 
                                                                                                                        *****  
  
Two hours later,  Angie was on the bus, her uniform freshly washed and pressed. She nervously adjusted her cap and folded her pitcher's glove in half as the wheels rumbled and the buildings passed by.  
  
There were more people out now, most of them heading home from long days at the steel factory. Everyone said the JS Steel was the biggest factory in Chicago, and it seemed nearly everyone worked there.  
  
She'd taken some baking soda and water for her stomach, which had calmed it down a little, but the wheels of the bus on Chicago's "barely paved potholes," as her father called them, were making her stomach revisit its earlier position.  
And her mind was still racing. She almost missed her stop. She would have, actually, had not the kindly older Negro man behind her piped up, "Miss Baseball? Ain't this where you get off?"  
  
Angie smiled in spite of herself. "Yes, Clarence, thank you." Clarence smiled. "Good luck out there, miss," he said with a wink. Angie touched her cap with a rogueish smile and made her way to the baseball diamond.  
  
Today was one of the few times Angie was happy she'd missed the days when the women's league played at the men's major league stadiums. The men's stadiums were much bigger, and the distance from the pitcher's mound to home base was much farther. After her performance over the last few weeks, Angie was no longer sure her pitches would make it to the batter. She was happy she hadn't embarrassed herself on a larger scale.  
  
"Yahh, fresh meat! You got your head outta your ass yet?" came a booming voice. Angie closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning to look in the direction of the voice. It was Sharon "Babe" Mabley, the catcher for her team and the biggest woman Angie had ever seen. She was built like an ox, and Angie suspected Babe could break her in half if she wanted to. Angie was glad Babe was her friend.  
  
"Depends, Babe. You got your hand out of yours?" Babe groaned but laughed. "That was one time, Martinelli!" They both laughed. "How're you feelin today kid? You gonna make it?" Angie could see concern on Babe's large red face. "I hope so. I mean, I've been practing. I'm a good pitcher! I just, I don't know, I'm choking for some reason."  
  
Babe shrugged her massive shoulders. "It happens sometime, kid. You just gotta relax, ignore the crowd, and focus on sending that ball right here." She pounded her fist into her catcher's mitt. "You'll be fine." Angie nodded. Gosh, she hoped so. Though neither of them would say it, they both knew her job was on the line.  
  
Angie was in the dugout about 15 minutes later, stretching and mumbling Hail Mary's under her breath, when Coach Branch walked in, chewing tobacco loudly as usual. She was followed by Sue Ellen Crouch, the seasoned pitcher from the nearby Springfield Follies. Angie felt a tiny ache in her chest. This must be the end.  
  
"Martinelli," Coach said briskly. "Coach." Angie nodded at Sue Ellen, who was also silent. Angie thought the look on her face was smug and she hated her in that moment. Angie took a breath and unknowingly held it.  
  
Coach Branch was the only female head coach in the entire league, and with her tough, wiry frame and thin, determined face, she brooked no nonsense, whether pre-grame nerves or poor performances. She had been known to make some girls play when it was their time of the month.   
  
The coach removed her ball cap, ran her small, tanned hand through her mop of brown curls. Then she put the cap back on. "Listen, kid--"  
  
"I know why you're here, Coach, and believe me, I've got my act together this week, I promise--"  
  
The woman spit a glob of tobacco juice about six inches from Angie's feet and Angie fought to keep her face neutral. "Such a nasty habit," her mom would always say disapprovingly, frowning, whenever Angie's father would chew around the house.  
  
"Just listen," Branch interrupted. She looked past Angie and onto the diamond, then back to Angie. "Listen. I know you ain't had a good first coupla weeks here. Maybe the pressure was too much and it's my fault for putting ya in so early. You're green." Angie felt her eyes drop to her feet of their own accord.  
  
The small woman jammed her hands into her jacket before continuing. "So here's what's gonna happen. You're not gonna start the game. We put in a request for Crouch, the star pitcher from the Wisconsin league, and she arrived last night. I'm gonna put in Crouch for the first few innings, to make sure we're in a good place. You'll come in to relieve her 'bout halfway through, and we'll take it slow from there." Here Coach Branch looked directly into Angie's eyes. "You do good, you'll stay in. You do bad, well, we'll put Crouch back in let her finish up. Got it?"  
  
Angie felt the beginning of tears burning her eyes, but she swallowed them down and willed herself not to cry in front of Sue Ellen's mocking blue eyes and tiny smirk. She cleared her throat. "But Coach, how 'bout if Crouch just pitches the first inning--"  
  
The middle-aged woman's dark brown eyes hardened. "I've made my decision, Martinelli. You've forced my hand. You want me to change my mind, then you get out there when you're called and do better than you've been doin'. Alright?" Angie simply nodded, and the coach walked over to the other players in the far end of the dug out.  
  
Once Coach Branch was safely out of earshot, Sue Ellen snapped her gum and turned to Angie. "And listen kid, if you think ain't up to it and don't wanna tempt fate, you ain't gotta pitch today at all. I pitched 5 no hitters last season, and I can do it again. I got way more experience than a upstart city squirt like you." She looked Angie up and down with almost a sneer before striding off to the player's bench.  
  
It was then Angie felt her spine turn into steel. She'd show this bitch what she was made of it killed her.   
                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                   *****  
  
"STEEEEEEEEE-RIKE 3, YER OUT!" The home base umpire screamed, and the batter disgustedly took her bat and walked back to the dugout.  
  
It was the third inning, and Sue Ellen Crouch was pitching an exemplary game. The crowds were loud and effusive in their praise, and even Angie had to admit it to herself. After every strike she seemed to find Angie's gaze and hold it for a brief second, mocking her. "You'll NEVER be as good as me," it seemed to say. "You're through!" Angie could feel the bile rising in her throat but the score was 5-2 in their favor, and she said nothing.  
  
It was after Sue Ellen's 9th consecutive strike that Angie got scared. She looked at the crowds, cheering and laughing. She looked at her teammates, joyous and gleeful. She looked at her coach, pleased and happy, and she felt a jolt of terror from her back to her toes. What if she failed again? There was no way she could live up to Sue Ellen's performance--and not only that, no one expected her to, because no one thought she could.  
  
For the second time that day, Angie blinked back tears. And this time, she wished for her brother, Angelo.  
  
Angelo was Angie's twin ("Really, Ma?" they'd asked one year. "Angela and Angelo?"), and they had always been each other's biggest fan. He was tall and thin where Angie was shorter and a bit stocky; his hair and eyes were dark where Angie's were lighter. His skin had always been pale, whereas Ma always said Angie was as "brown as an Indian."  
  
Regardless of their differences, they were the best of friends. When Angelo discovered a talent for drawing--pencil sketches and charcoal, mainly--Angie had showed them to everyone who came over to their apartment. When an essay he'd written had been published in the local Italian Council paper, Angie had nailed a copy to the wall of the bedroom she'd shared with her sister, Maria.  
  
And when Angie had played baseball in the streets with the neighborhood boys, the only girl among them, Angelo had been there to cheer for her with every pitch. When her parents had angrily and loudly disapproved of her moving out of their crowded apartment to join the women's baseball league, Angelo had taken her side and plead her cause.  
  
Most importantly, Angelo knew about Angie's proclivities for girls instead of boys, and never told a soul. (Likewise, Angie never breathed a word when he told her of his own proclivities for boys.)  
  
Angie had quit believing in God when Angelo had been struck by a sniper in the war.  
  
"Martinelli!"  
  
Angie was shaken from her reverie by the loud voice of Babe, the catcher, standing in front of her. "Coach is puttin' you in!"  
  
Angie jumped up and ran towards the diamond, heart in her throat. Sue Ellen gave her a look and laughed harshly. "How'd ya expect ta pitch without a glove, jackass?" Angie looked down at her hands and sure enough, she'd forgotten it. Blushing furiously, she turned around to retrieve it from where she'd left it in the dugout.  
  
Babe met her halfway and patted her on the back. "Relax, champ. You can do this. Just focus."  
  
Angie nodded. Heart in her throat, she began to head to the pitcher's mound. Angie was yet again thankful that the women's leagues no longer played in the men's league stadiums; she was no longer sure she could get the ball over the plate in this smaller arena, let alone one with twice the number of spectators.  
She got to the mound and bent over to pick up the ball Sue Ellen had left for her. Her hands were shaking; the muscles in her arms spasmed, her head spun. "Get a hold of yourself, Martinelli," she whispered angrily. "Get it together."  
  
From where she stood, as the first batter was walking to the plate, Angie took in the sights around her. There were so many people today. Coach had said 2,000 had come to the game last week. There looked to be even more at this game.  
  
Angie swallowed. 2,000 people would be there to see her fail again.  
For a few moments, everything was too much: the smell of the hot dogs too strong, the color of the sky too grey--it would rain, the cries of the crowds, her teammates, and her coach too loud. She felt she might throw up.  
  
"Hey, pitch, ya gonna throw the ball or what?" hollered the batter, a swarthy woman with the reddest hair Angie had ever seen.  
  
She clutched the ball in her glove, frozen with nerves and startled by the silence that had settled as the crowd and the players waited for Angie's first pitch.  
  
She felt herself get hot, and then cold; she tried not to shake but she was sure now she would be sick. She couldn't do this. She would be fired. She'd let her team down and prove her parents right and disappoint Angelo--  
  
Just then, she heard a sound, one lone voice. "YOU CAN DO IT, PITCHER! STRIKE HER OUT!"  
  
The voice, loud and clear and accented, echoed across the diamond, from the stands to Angie on the pitcher's mound. Angie's head snapped up and her eyes searched the crowd for the origin of the mysterious voice. When she found it, she almost dropped the ball.  
  
A dark-haired woman, in the first row of the stands, had stood up and had shouted again. "STRIKE! HER! OUT!" she chanted, and, after a few confused murmers, the fans of Angie's team picked up the cry. Angie's mouth fell open.  
  
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Maybe she could do this after all.  
  
Shaking her shoulders like a horse, Angie took a deep breath, wound up, and threw the ball. Before it even crossed the plate she knew it would be a strike.  
  
And it was--the first of many. Angie was on fire for the rest of the game.   
  
Whenever she felt herself start to flag or lose confident, somehow through some kind of clairvoyance the dark-haired, mysteriously-accented woman would begin to cheer, giving Angie the boost she needed.  
  
Angie, with the help of the strong batting and all-around performance of her other teammates, led her team to victory.  
  
When she threw the last pitch--a beautiful strike--the crowd erupted, like the volcanoes Angie had seen pictures of in encyclopedias. The dark-haired woman was the first to her feet, clapping and shouting.   
  
"Martinelli!" screamed Coach Branch, running from the dugout and thumping her on the back. "Ya did it! Your curveballs are a weapon. And those fastballs!" she wiped her brow with a handkerchief and continued to pound Angie on the back. Angie beamed and followed her back into the dugout, where her teammates cheered and thumped her back.  
  
Sue Ellen wouldn't look at her.  
  
                                                       *****  
  
"So what changed?" Deborah asked later that night after she returned home from work. "How'd ya pitch so good this week?" She stirred the customary cup of tea she and Angie had at the end of every day.  
  
Angie had completely forgotten the mysterious brunette until now. "Deb, you'll never guess. I was so scared, thinkin' I was gonna be sick again, when outta nowhere, outta the clear blue sky, who cheered for me just before I threw the first pitch. She got the whole crowd on my side, and somehow, that was just what I needed."  
  
"Who was she?" Deborah asked, tipping cream into Angie's cup. Angie took a sip.  
  
"I don't know. But I'm gonna find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic for the pairing and my first fanfic in many years. Please be kind! Feel free to send me feedback here on on my tumblr (http://yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com).
> 
> This story will mainly be told from Angie’s perspective, but there will be a few chapters from Peggy’s as well. The first chapters will be intros and world-building. Expect a slow, slow burn, lots of angst, diverse original characters and some education about the racial dynamics and lgbt scene 1940s Chicago.
> 
> That being said: please don’t expect me to write about people of varying races or backgrounds without mistake! I try to stick to what I know or could research, but I’m not perfect.
> 
> I have attempted to be as “realistic” about portraying this time period as I can, but I know my limits. However, I can assure you that every reference or anecdote is historical or based on a historical precedent. With this in mind, please remember that 1948 was not big on political correctness. I’ll make sure to add any trigger warnings for language.
> 
> I will add as much resource and explanation for unknown terms as much as possible in future chapters. For now, it can’t hurt to take a quick look at this (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baseball) and this (http://aagpbl.com) if you’re unfamiliar with the American sport of baseball or the women’s baseball league.
> 
> Even if no one reads this it has been super fun just for me, learning about this time period and the awesome things women and people of color got up to in the 40s. That being said, please give me feedback if you do read it. Let me know what’s working, what isn’t, etc etc. Send me a message on tumblr: yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com/ask :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie puts together a plan to meet the mystery woman.

It was a Peggy Lee kind of morning.

Angie felt it as soon as she opened her eyes on Saturday morning, and, jumping out of bed, she pulled open the curtains and started singing before she could stop herself:

 _It's a good day for singing a song,_  
_and it's a good day for moving along;_  
_Yes, it's a good day, how could anything be wrong,_  
_A good day from morning' till night..._

Unfortunately, Angie ( _that could be the title of my memoir_ , she sometimes thought, ruefully) had completely forgotten that Deborah had pulled a late night, and the loud groan of disgust-filled protest that came from the huddle of blankets on Deborah's bed suggested to Angie that she quieten down, and soon.

The smile wouldn't leave her face though, and the song hadn't left her heart. Her triumph yesterday was still fresh on her mind. That, and the day was so bright and beautiful. The sun's rays always seemed to infuse her with energy, "Like a snake," Angelo used to say. She had punched him in the shoulder when he'd said that, but he was right. She loved warm weather; it's when she had the most energy. Winters made her want to curl up in a ball and not move. She often wondered if it would be possible for her to hibernate.

Smiling at the memory, she padded to the bathroom and took a shower, whistling the entire time. Deborah was snoring softly when Angie returned to the bedroom, so Angie got dressed as quietly as she could and tipped quietly to the kitchen.

Still whistling, she put water on the stove to boil for tea. _Gosh, what a beautiful day!_

Sipping her tea, she thought again of the mysterious dark haired woman in the stands. How on earth could she find her? There must have been 2,000 people in the stands last night, easily. And Angie hadn't even seen her face! Chin in hand, she brushed the tip of her nose with the side of her index finger, as was her habit when she deep in thought.

She couldn't very well go to the box office and ask. Maybe some of her teammates had seen her. _But what are you gonna ask 'em? Hey who was that lady that was cheerin' me on last night, was she pretty? Nah._

She brushed her nose again. She would probably just have to let it go. _Come cercare un ago in un pagliaio,_ as her grandmother would say. No sense looking for a needle in a haystack.

Although...

The thought she had next caused her to choke on her tea out of excitement. What if she followed the woman after the game? Maybe catch up to her and just say thanks?

Except there's no way that would work. After all:

_"Remember, the All-American girl is subjected to greater exposure through her activities on the diamond, through exertion in greater body warmth and perspiration, through exposure to dirt, grime and dust and through vigorous play to scratches, cuts, abrasions and sprains. This means extra precaution to assure all the niceties of toilette and personality. Especially "after the game,"the All American girl should take time to observe the necessary beauty ritual, to protect both her health and appearance. Here are a few simple rules that should prove helpful and healthful "after the game."_

_Shower well and soap the skin._  
_Dry thoroughly to avoid chapping or chafing._  
_Apply cleansing cream to face and remove with tissue._  
_Wash face with soap and water._  
_Apply skin astringent._  
_Apply rouge moderately but carefully._  
_Apply lipstick with moderate taste._  
_Apply eye makeup if considered desirable._  
_Apply powder._  
_Check all cuts, abrasions or minor injuries..."_

There's no way she could catch up to anyone after doing all that. Angie sighed. What if she just skipped it, just this once?

_Helen will have your hide, you idiot._

As also stipulated by the league rules, every team had a designated chaperone on hand to make sure the team followed the rules, ensure that everything went smoothly, and keep the fans at bay, and every chaperone Angie had ever met took her job as seriously as if she'd been the mayor of the city. No way would Angie be able to sneak away.

She groaned inwardly. _Fight me, Helen._

She'd have to figure out something else.

 

"Ma! I'm home!" Angie shouted, walked noisily through the front door of the little wood framed house she'd grown up in. Two small, curly-haired boys, her nephews Jerry and Sam, raced past her, shouting and chasing each other. They were followed by their cousin Fabio (nicknamed Fabrizio)--a lively 13 year old--and the boys' sister, Gabriella, a pudgy legged toddler.

Angie smiled and made her way to the kitchen, where she could hear her female family members before saw them. The Parisi sisters (Parisi was Angie's ma's maiden name) all lived close to each other, and despite their busy lives, always gathered on Saturday mornings "to drink tea and shoot the shit," as Angie's Aunt Rachel would say.

"I'm telling you, she spoils him!" That would be Rachel, the third Parisi sister. Angie could imagine Rachel's offended and incredulous face. "What thirteen year old boy do you know doesn't have a job on Saturday mornings? Fabrizio's practically a man!" Her long, wavy brown hair swished as she turned her head from side to side, looking for someone to agree with her. Opinionated and fearless, Rachel was known for taking hard lined stances, especially about things that did not directly involve her. She was a firm believer in putting children to work, the sooner, the better, and the fact that Fabrizio did not have a weekend job had been a burr in her saddle for months now.

"He's my son! I'll raise him as I like!" came the vehement reply of Angie's Aunt Elisa, the youngest Parisi sister. Elisa was smart, feisty and, most of all, stubborn. Everyone said Angie was almost her carbon copy, but Angie didn't really mind. "Do you think you can tell me how to raise my son? _C_ _hi si fa i fatti suoi campa cent’anni!_ ” Elisa pushed her glasses back further onto her face, half-raising her body out of her seat. She was always ready for a fight.

"Rachel, I'm sure Elisa and Vincenzo will have Fabrizio get a job at some point in the near future," Angie heard her mother say, trying to be reasonable. She always was the the peacemaker between "the prizefighters," as the family called Rachel and Elisa, who were only a year apart in age. "And until then, remember he's going to try and fix your radio! _A caval donato non si guarda in bocca!_ Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." Just then she looked up to see Angie in the doorway.

"Angie!"

The cry was almost deafening as the entire kitchen greeted Angie, joy on their faces and in their voices. You'd think it had been years since they'd all seen her. In actuality, she'd seen them 6 days ago at the weekly Sunday dinner.

"Ma," she said, as her diminutive parent folded Angie into her arms and squeezed. _She's getting thin,_ Angie thought, with some worry. Sometimes her Ma worked too hard. But Angie decided not to voice her concerns at the moment, instead opting to kiss the top of her dark brown head. Angie's mother beamed as Angie then went to make the rounds to the aunts.

"Angie, you're getting so fat and strong and beautiful!" Aunt Rachel exulted, pinching Angie's arms, sides, and bottom. Angie rolled her eyes and wiggled out of her grasp, much like she had been doing since she was a little girl. She leaned over Rachel to embrace Elisa, who, despite the shouting match with Rachel, was sitting right next to her nemesis, her elbow fondly placed on Rachel's shoulder. "You see, she always did like me better!" Elisa crowed, wrapping an arm around Angie's neck and kissing her cheek.

Angie laughed and didn't correct her, though secretly her favorite had always been Aunt Lucia. Lucia, the oldest, came over to Angie from the stove, where she'd been stirring something that looked like soup. Angie hoped it was; Lucia made the only soup Angie ever enjoyed eating. Lucia was tall and graceful, with the Parisi family's trademark wavy, dark chestnut locks, though now she had more streaks of gray. She kept her hair cut short ( _"What use is hair? To get in your way. That's all,"_ she always said). Her face was thin yet open and expressive, copious laugh lines betraying her sweet, humorous good nature.

"How's my favorite _nipote_?" Lucia whispered into Angie's ear, hugging her tightly. "Good. How's my favorite _zia_?" Angie whispered back, conspiratorially. "It's wonderful to see you, my special girl." Lucia kissed her temple and went back to the stove. Angie's mother directed Angie to the direction of the table. "Sit, Angie. Have you eaten your breakfast?" Angie knew it didn't matter what her answer was; someone would feed her anyway.

"Where's Nonna?" Angie queried. Usually Angie's grandmother would be right in the middle of the kitchen, holding court like the revered matriarch she was. "Is she here?" Angie took a seat at the kitchen table by Elisa, who nudged her in the ribs. "I think she went to use the facilities." Just then, the chubby toddler from before wobbled into the kitchen and reached for Angie. "Angie!" she squealed as Angie swept her up and into her lap. Angie buried her face in the little girl's neck, covering her with kisses. "Gaby, _il mio poco bella uccellino,_ " she sang as the little girl giggled.

"So how goes the baseball, Angie?" Elisa asked. "Still impractical, still temporary, but I suppose  _l_ _a speranza è l’ultima a morire_ , no?" Rachel declared, shaking her head. "Have you found a man yet, Angie?" she continued. "That's what matters. Baseball won't keep you warm when you come home at night."

"I've got plenty of blankets and a new hot water bottle," Angie shot back. Elisa crowed with laughter and patted Angie on the back. "Have you won any games yet?" her mother asked, setting a plate of food in front of her daughter. "She hadn't won any games?" Rachel slapped her hands on the table. "You see? It's a sign." Angie started to answer but was distracted by Gabriella trying to steal her breakfast.

"Leave her alone, Rachel. Let her talk." This came from Lucia, who smiled and winked at Angie, who succeeded in wresting her plate from Gabriella's grasp. Angie smiled gratefully. "The baseball is actually going really great. We won our first game last night!"

A cry went up in the kitchen as everyone cheered. Angie's sister, the glamorous, slender Sara, walked in at that moment, holding her three year old daughter, Abigail, in her arms. "That's fantastic, Angie. I know you're pitching well." She walked over so Abigail could give Angie a kiss.

"You finally conquered those nerves?" Angie's short, fun-loving sister Elena came in and took her daughter, the wiggling Gabriella, out of Angie's arms.

"Yeah, I did. And it was the strangest thing ever. Listen. So there I was on the field, right, feelin' like I was gonna throw up, shakin' real bad. I honestly didn't know if I'd be able to get the ball across the plate. That whole day I'd been feelin' real sick."

"Had you eaten, Angini?" Angie's mother believed that every illness, every malady was caused by a failure to eat. She could never be convinced otherwise.

"No, Ma, because I'd been feelin' sick that whole day, see? But--"

 _"Per carità!"_  Angie's mother broke in, stricken. "How can you expect to be well if you don't eat?" Rachel nodded emphatically. "Your mother's right! You've gotta eat, Angie. Do you wanna get sick and die, _per l’amor di Dio_? Where would your fancy baseball be then?"

"Ay, Ma, _essere sano come un pesce!_ I was just nervous!" Angie protested. "Nervous!" Ma shook her head. " _La prossima volta, mangiare_." Angie groaned at this. "Let the girl speak," Lucia said again. Angie shushed Rachel and continued. "Anyways! There I was, just about to heave my insides, when all of a sudden there was a voice, right outta the clear blue sky, sayin', 'Go Angie! You can do it!' and after a few cheers from her, the whole home team crowd started cheerin' for me. Ma. It was amazing! And somehow I got the courage to pitch!"

Angie's mother cocked her head and put a hand on her hip. "Who was she?" she asked. Angie shrugged. "That's the thing! I don't know." She shoved more food into her mouth. "Well, what did she look like? Was she Italian? Do we know her?" Now Rachel's interest was piqued.

"I don't know!"

Elisa leaned in. "Well, what color was her hair? Did she have glasses? Was she wearing a hat? Surely you could tell that, even from the field." Rachel snorted. "Oh and Angie's supposed to recognize her from _a hat she wore_?"

"I didn't see her face," Angie said, slightly exasperated, trying to gain control of the conversation back. "What happened next, Angini?" came a voice from the doorway. "Nonna!" Angie ran over and gripped her grandmother in a hug. "So, finish!" Nonna said. "What happened after you heard the _donna misteriosa_?"

"Well, I pitched!! I pitched so well, they didn't even need the emergency relief pitcher they recruited from another team in the Eastern Division. And we won!" Nonna gave Angie another squeeze. "I'm so proud of you, Angini, _il mio omonimo,_ " she said, squeezing her hand.

"So I suppose this means you keep your job," Angie's sister Elena teased. Angie stuck out her tongue. "Listen, I need you all's help," she said, taking her plate to the sink. "We're already trying our best to set you up!" Rachel yelled. "But God knows it's a Herculean task!" Her nemesis Elisa kicked her under the table. "Do you ever think of anything other than setting people up?" she said accusingly. "None of your busybody friends' sons are good enough for our Angie, anyway!"

"At least I _have_ friends," Rachel shot back. Lucia walked over and thumped Rachel and Elisa on the back of their heads. " _Essere come cane e gatto!_ Do you two ever stop? Can't the girl finish? What do you need from us, Angini?"

"I was hoping some of you could come to the game, and maybe have a look and see if you see the cheering woman? Tell me what she looks like, at least?" Angie's mother looked at her curiously. "I just want to tell her thank you," Angie said hurriedly. "She saved my life last night."

Fabrizio, who had been listening at the door, popped his head in. "I'll do it for ya, Angie. What's this dame look like?" Angie motioned him to meet her outside and walked overt to her mom. "Ma, I've gotta go, gotta get to practice. But I'll see you all at dinner tomorrow, okay?" She kissed her mother, and with a fond _arrivederci_ waved goodbye to everyone else, and walked outside with Fabrizio.

"So listen," she said. "Like I said, I haven't seen her face. I only know she had dark brown hair and an English accent." Fabrizio kicked a rock. "What's an English accent?" he asked. Angie affected the best she could muster, but Fabrizio just ended up laughing. Angie pinched him. "Just listen for someone who talks funny."

 

Angie loved her family, adored them even, but sometimes she was grateful she had moved out of the family home. Quiet was nice. She loved not being interrupted.

She was also glad she'd brought her game bag with her; she'd been at home much longer than she'd planned and didn't have time to stop at her place.

 _I wonder if Deborah talked to Millie last night?_   She wondered on the bus, on the way to the field. She wondered more about the mysterious woman, the _donna misteriosa_ , as her Nonna had called her. She desperately hoped she'd come to tonight's game. Another confidence boost couldn't hurt, especially since she felt her stomach threatening mutiny.

She smiled at Clarence before getting off at her stop. He touched his cap, pleased Angie hadn't missed it.

Angie got to Willmot Field earlier than usual in order to figure out her plan for that night. She had heard rumors of a secret passage at Willmot Field, below the stadium, that led directly outside, allowing you to bypass the swarming crowds.

But who could she ask without giving herself away?

Her friend Babe, the catcher, was in the locker room when Angie walked in, putting on her socks and cleats. "Hey, kid. You're here early." Angie took a seat beside Babe on the locker room bench. "Listen, Babe. I want to find out who that woman was. You know, from last night. I was wondering if there was a way you could cover for me so I could leave early?"

Babe winked. "I can't help ya, but I hear Bev can. When she gets here, go up to her and ask her about 'the Tunnel.'"

Just then Angie remembered something she'd seen and heard last week. Beverly, the substitute catcher, and Ernestine, the backup outfielder, had been huddled together before practice, whispering behind their locker doors.  _Hmmm. I wonder what that was about._

Once the whole team finally arrived-- _why was Joan always late??--_ there was no time to talk, but in between warm ups and the actual start of the game, Angie saw an opening.

Gathering her courage, and trying her hardest to be casual, she approached Bev, who was standing at her locker. "Uh, hey, Bev," she started. _Not an auspicious start, Martinelli,_ she chided herself. Bev looked her up and down. "Hey, newbie. Can I help ya?" Angie wished she'd had a chance to put together a speech, like she usually did before social situations. She coughed.

"Out with it, kid! Ain't got all day." Bev turned back to her locker and began rummaging around. Angie gulped. _Just say it!_

"Um, so, I was wondering about--well, I need to leave right after a game and Babe said to come talk to you and mention 'he Tunnel?" Bev's red lips parted to reveal bright white teeth, and her blue eyes seemed to smile. She put Angie at ease."Oh, you wanna know about the Tunnel, eh?" Angie nodded. "Well, geez, why didn't you say so? Course I'll help ya out. But listen," here Bev lowered her voice, "You wanna use The Tunnel, you gotta respect the rules, see?"

She looked over her shoulder at the chaperone, Helen--who had once declared to them, with an air of something like menace (or at least it seemed to Angie) that she had eyes and ears everywhere, and no rule-breaking of any kind would be allowed--and then turned her attention back to Angie.

Bev leaned in and began arranging Angie's hair. "Sorry, Helen's lookin'. We gotta act like we're primpin'." She paused, then continued.

"Alright, then. First of all, before I tell ya where it is, you gotta agree to a couple things. First, the Tunnel belongs to ALL of us. Not just you. It's here for ALL of us, not just you. We rotate. So one game, I use it, next game maybe Gloria, next game maybe Dot. And sometimes, no one uses it and we just let it be. That way someone isn't missing every week." Bev glanced again at Helen. "Second. Only one girl can use the Tunnel per game. That way we don't call attention to it, and chances are lower that Helen or anyone would notice and then get us in trouble for leavin' without doin' the proper beauty routine or meetin' fans."

She looked again at Helen, who had at last turned her attention elsewhere. "Alright, third and most important: tell no one. Not about the Tunnel, not about anyone who uses it. You gotta swear blind, newbie." Angie nodded solemnly. "I swear."

Bev nodded approvingly and turned back to her locker. She pretended to rummage around inside it but actually pulled out a tiny notebook from inside the bust of her uniform.

"This is the schedule book," she said, opening the notebook to reveal pages of names and dates. "What date were you lookin' to use it?"

"Um, today, I guess. If that's possible? I didn't know about the schedule. Or any of it," she hastened to meekly add. Bev raised an eyebrow and took a look at the notebook. "You're in luck, kiddo. Schedule's free for the next coupla games. Go ahead and sign your name and the date. Be quick," she said, handing Angie a pen from her locker. When Angie had finished, Bev took the notebook and stuck it back in its hiding place above her bosom and then smoothed her hair.

"Now," she said. "Follow me." Angie noticed Helen watching them out of the corner of her eyes but she didn't approach.

"We gotta be quick," Bev was saying. "Don't dawdle. We can't miss role call." Angie followed Bev as she turned left and right down a few dimly lit hallways until they arrived at a dark slate gray door, completely unmarked and inconspicuous. Bev bent down and pulled an apparently loose tile from the floorboard.

"Make sure to be careful when you do this," she told Angie. "The point is to keep the tile looking as non-descript as possible." She then pulled out a silver key and then replaced the tile. Putting the key into the lock, she opened the door and turned to Angie.

"It's basically a straight shot from the door. See that light up ahead a few paces?" She jerked a thumb in front of her. "That's it. Come on."

About 200 feet from the first door was another door, this one beige, that Bev opened, and they walked out into the brightness of the late May afternoon. Angie noticed that the door they'd just walked through was blank and unmarked, as well.

"This same key unlocks this door, if it's locked. Which it should be. I'm gonna talk to Dot," she said, under her breath. "Make sure you lock this door behind you and put the key in a safe place. Bring it and hide it back behind the tile whenever you come back to the field, got it?" Angie nodded and Bev smiled. "Good. Well that's it, really. So," she said, motioning for Angie to follow her back to the locker room. "What are you sneakin' out and riskin' discovery and subsequent penalties for anyways, kid? Got a boyfriend waitin' for ya?"

Angie laughed. "No, nothing like that."

 

"Well if it isn't the girl wonder!" Barb Bailey, the redheaded third baseman, called out when Angie and Bev walked back into the locker room. Angie searched her face for sincerity. Some of her teammates were skeptical about her and in some cases, downright antagonistic towards her, blaming her for their past losses.

She was relieved to see a genuine smile on Barb's face, and she breathed easier. "I hope you're still on fire tonight," said Doris, the squirelly shortstop, said from across the room. "We're playin' Springfield." Angie didn't want to discuss nerves, so she changed the subject. Time to get someone besides Fabrizio on Mystery Woman watch.

"Did you guys hear that woman last night? Who cheered for me outta nowhere?" There were nods and murmurs of agreement. "Did anyone get a look at her? Or know who she is, maybe?" A couple people nodded.

Dorothy, the pinch hitter, spoke up. "Yeah, Janet, Ernie and I saw her. We were talkin' about her durin' the game."

"What did she look like?" Angie said, eagerly, then kicked herself mentally for sounding too eager. "Well for starters, she was definitely the prettiest bird I'd ever seen," said Ernie, bending over to lace up her shoes. "Yeah, she had the face of a goddess," Janet piped up.

"Why do you wanna know, newbie? You gonna track her down? You Dick Tracy now?" Babe shouted from across the room, and everyone laughed.  
  
"Just wanna tell her thanks, that's all." Angie tried to be casual. She looked at Bev, who had a knowing look on her face. Angie changed the subject. "Anyone wanna throw the ball around with me a little before the game starts?"

 

Angie felt an odd sense of deja vu at the beginning of that night's game. Despite her exciting discovery of the Tunnel and her subsequent plan to follow the mystery woman after the game, her pregrame nerves were back with a vengeance. When her teammates left to go out onto the field, she stopped by the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. Wiping her face and quickly reapplying makeup, she made her way out and onto the mound.

She was greeted with fewer boos than last time, but she could tell the crowd was still skeptical. She'd still have to prove herself, to show them last week hadn't been a fluke.

_It hadn't...right?_

Until these last few weeks Angie would have told you confidently that she was the best pitcher in the league--it's what everyone had said at spring training. And for good reason: Angie had been playing baseball since she was 5 years old. Yet now, with anxiety once again squeezing its vice grip around her brain, Angie thought of her youngest brother, Donnie, and the broken record player he'd found in someone's garbage. It skipped really badly, so whenever you listened to a record it would just play the same 3 seconds over and over again.

That was going on in her head, now. _You can't do it, you're a failure. You can't do it, you're a failure. You can't do it, you're a failure._

Angie shook her head to try and clear her thoughts. She saw her cousin Fabrizio scuttling through the stands directly behind the dugout, hand on his cap, with his focus no doubt primarily on finding dropped coins, with finding Angie's number one fan much less important. Still, it helped to think about him. It took her thoughts off of her bubbling stomach and sweaty palms.

It was also at this point that she wished, as she had every week since the season began, that her family would come to her games. But she understood they were all busy, they had jobs and families. Most of them worked multiple jobs to provide for their children. She _knew._

So she did what she always did: put those longings aside to focus on the facts. She had a game to... _win?_  she thought feebly.  _I'd be happy to just pitch well._

 _Please let the woman be here tonight_ , Angie prayed to no one in particular. _Please let her be here._

Just then, Babe tossed her the ball and the game had to begin. Heaving a sigh, she decided it couldn't hurt to say an actual prayer. She had time for a quick St. Jude if she started now. It had been awhile since she'd prayed, really prayed, but she was almost surprised by how easily the prayers of her childhood came, like breathing.

_O holy St. Jude, apostle and matyr, great in virture and rich in miracles, near kinsman of Jesus Christ, faithful intercessor of all who invoke you, special patron in time of need..._

"LET'S GO TEAM! STRIKE 'EM OUT, PITCH!"

Angie almost gasped. The woman was here! All hope wasn't lost after all!

After the game she'd apologize to St. Jude for wasting his time. For now, she had a game to win.

 

After the game, Angie was careful to follow Bev's instructions. She was impressed and relieved at how easily and casually one could ditch the aftergame responsibilities--if you had a system. Which Bev definitely did. As soon as the week's "escapee," as Bev had termed them, got back to the locker room, she was to grab her bag, dash into the bathroom, and wash her body and change her clothes. Meanwhile, Bev and a few other girls would descend upon Helen the chaperone, and also Shirley and Marjorie, two girls with a strict rule-following sensibility, and engage them in conversation.

"It's important you don't think of Shirley and Marj as bad guys, alright? They mean well, and just want everything to go smoothly and for no one to get fined or suspended, or worse. Which are all risks, you know that. So it ain't like they're goody two shoes or nothin' like that." Angie's face must have seemed dubious, because Bev went on. "Us girls gotta stick together, it's true, but there's a lotta different ways to do that, see? Our way--me and the other girls who use the Tunnel--our way is to help a girl get home early or catch her bus on time, to help her meet a date or get some rest if she ain't feelin' well. Others, like Shirley and Marj, their way it to make sure everyone's acounted for and doin' what they should be doin'. Both ways are good. Different sides of the same coin."

Angie thought of this as she ran through the hall ways, picked up the key, opened the doors, and went ouside. Springtime in Chicago meant the days were getting longer, so the sun was only just beginning to set when she made her way outside. Tucking the key safely into her bag, she looked for the mystery woman.

Thanks to her teammates, she now had a description, at least a partial one, of what the woman looked like and what she'd been wearing--dark wavy brown hair, deep red lipstick, light olive green skirt and white blouse, with black pumps and stockings. Oh, and "sunglasses that made her look like a movie star," said Joan. "Yeah, she has this, this _air_  about her. You can't miss her," Ernestine had said, a bit breathlessly.

There she was!

Ernestine had been right, it would seem--even from 100 feet away and from the side, Angie could tell that this woman was someone special.

There she went.

Angie hastened to follow. She was headed towards downtown, away from Willmot Field and the bus stop. Angie was glad she'd brought her most comfortable shoes.

The woman walked briskly and with purpose, _a confident stride,_ Angie remarked to herself, and more than once Angie had had to scramble to keep up. It wasn't for no reason she was a pitcher and not a fielder.

Angie made sure to stay enough paces back so as not to arouse suspicion, and thankfully there were a lot of people on the sidewalks that evening. Angie didn't know, however, how long she should follow this woman. _What exactly is the protocol for stalking?_ her sarcastic sister Elena would ask had she been there. But Angie wasn't a stalker. This wasn't stalking, right?

 _Maybe she'll stop for dinner or coffee or something, and I can introduce myself then. And maybe we'll  get to talking, and maybe we'll hit it off, and maybe..._ Angie didn't dare let herself finish the last thought.

Angie's fantasy came at least partially true when, after about 15 minutes of walking Chicago's winding streets, the woman turned onto a street Angie knew had an automat on the corner. Angie slowed down, not wanting to attract attention, looked around, and then walked down the street and into the automat.

Except the woman didn't seem to be there.

Angie scanned the crowd, looking for the dark hair, "dark like chocolate," another teammate had gushed. Angie thought of the chocolate from Switzerland that her worldly Uncle Frankie had brought for Christmas last year. Man was it delicious. Velvety, melt on your tongue perfection.

But the woman was nowhere to be found. Confused, Angie ignored the insistent waitress and went to check the bathroom. No luck.

_What the hell?_

Angie walked confusedly outside and looked around. How had Angie missed her?

It was starting to get dark now, and Angie shivered slightly. Maybe she should just head back. She turned down the alley just behind the automat--a shortcut back to the bus stop--thinking she heard rustling. There were some trash bins, but other than that--

"Why are you following me? Who are you?"

An authoritative, clipped English voice rang out from someplace to Angie's right, and Angie was fairly certain she heard the click of a gun.

Shit. What had she gotten herself into?

She looked around for the disembodied voice, words pouring out of her all in a rush. "I'm so sorry, my name is Angie, you were at my baseball game earlier and you were cheering for me and I just wanted to tell you how much--"

The woman materialized from Angie's left ( _left?? How was that possible? Was she magic? Had she thrown her voice before??_ ) and fear took a backseat to awe as Angie saw the mystery woman's face for the first time.

Her teammates had been right. This woman was absolutely and certainly the most beautiful woman Angie had ever seen.

The woman cocked her head and broke into a brilliant smile.

"Angie Martinelli?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is late guys, this week got away from me a bit. Here are some interesting things in this chapter:
> 
> -Angie's family was so much fun to write. Their personalities were modeled in part off of some real Italian friends I have. I got to visit them last year and had a fabulous time. There were a lot of Italians in Chicago in 1948; in fact, the city housed the largest population of Italians outside of New York and Philadelphia.  
> -I tried to sprinkle their conversations with some Italians phrases and idioms, but obviously I don't speak Italian. Here are the Google Translate translations of the phrases I didn't explain:  
> 1\. Chi si fa i fatti suoi campa cent’anni=He who minds his own business, will live 100 years  
> 2\. Nipote=niece  
> 3\. Zia=aunt  
> 4\. il mio poco bella uccellino=my beautiful little bird (Angie's nickname for her niece Gabriella)  
> 5\. la speranza è l’ultima a morire=hope is the last to die  
> 6\. Per carità=for god's sake  
> 7\. essere sano come un pesce=I'm as healthy as a fish (I'm completely healthy)  
> 8\. La prossima volta, mangiare=next time, eat  
> 9\. Donna misteriosa=mysterious woman  
> 10\. il mio omonomio=my namesake  
> 11\. Essere come cane e gatto=you are like cats and dogs  
> 12\. arrivederci=goodbye  
> -That being said, feel free to let me know if spent too much time on the family. I think I may have gotten carried away :)  
> -All of the rules I've quoted about the women's league are completely true! The women athletes were held to very high standards and had extremely strict rules to follow in public. Please check out www.aagpbl.com for details.  
> -Throughout the story, starting in this chapter, there will be Agent Carter callbacks and a few Hayley Atwell Easter eggs. Points to you if you recognize them!  
> -The song Angie sings at the beginning of the chapter is the seminal Peggy Lee's "It's A Good Day," and is one of my all-time favorite songs (despite the problematic line of throwing away your depression medication because it's sunny outside)  
> -As always, leave me a comment here or message me on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com/ask) with any questions, comments, or feedback.


	3. Chapter 3--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie finally meets the mysterious woman.

Since the day she'd spoken her first word-- _Mama_ \--at 18 months, Angie had been a talker, loud and insistent. After spending an a Sunday afternoon watching her while fixing an engine, Angie's dad had almost stumbled back inside, his face weary. " _Come fa una bambina sa tante parole_! (I didn't know a girl that small even knew so many words)," he'd said to Angie's mom, incredulous.

Rarely without something to say, Angie also had lightning quick reactions and a ready wit. She was never caught off guard.

Things changed after Angelo.

Now, she talked less. She got anxious. She was quieter, though she was never truly at a loss for words. Perhaps she saved her words, much like Deborah put every penny she could in a box under her bed. ( _"For better times,"_ she'd always say, wistfully.)

Maybe, after Angelo, Angie thought more and spoke less, but she always had an opinion, reaction, something she could share if she wanted to. She was rarely truly speechless.

But looking at the absolutely beautiful (there had to be a stronger word. Radiant? Celestial?) woman in front of her, Angie was, for the first time in a long time, completely and utterly stupefied.

As she took in the dark waves of hair, shimmering slightly in the light of nearby street lamps; the strong, determined jawline that reached its zenith with a decidedly Grecian chin; the nose that could have been cut from marble; the stubborn forehead; the red, red lips and dark brown eyes, chocolate dark to match her hair--god, Angie had never understood people's fascination with eyes until now--Angie completely lost herself.

How on earth could a normal woman be this physically without flaw? Surely she's a model. Or an actress, maybe? Angie saw and felt the woman's gaze on her turn to confusion and slight concern, but Angie was powerless.

"You _are_ Miss Martinelli?" the woman asked, finally, after God knows how long. Angie's brain finally registered the words--she heard them as if coming up from underwater--and they snapped her, gently, out of her trance.

"Y-yes, I'm Miss Martinelli. Er, Angie. Angela Martinelli." Angela? Where the hell had that come from? "But I go by Angie," she added, as something of an afterthought. Nevermind that she'd already said it.

"Oh, good! Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Peggy Carter," the woman said, with another gleam of white teeth, and Angie felt herself entranced once more. She shook Peggy's hand (Peggy! Angie was sure, in this moment, that Peggy was the prettiest name she'd ever come across) as if in a dream.

"It's so very nice to meet you, Miss Martinelli. I'm such a fan. You truly pitched a hell of a game this evening."

Angie felt how she imagined it must feel to thaw out. "Thank you, Miss Carter," she managed, in what she hoped was intelligible speech. Peggy turned slightly to reach inside her purse. "I know it's very tacky, and perhaps even in poor taste, but would you mind terribly if I asked for your autograph?" Peggy pulled out a small autograph book and pen and presented them to Angie shyly.

Angie was almost but not quite fully in control of her faculties, so she simply nodded mutely and took the proffered items. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but even though I've only seen you in two games, I do believe you're the most talented pitcher in this league," Peggy said, before looking down quickly. Angie looked up, handing the book and pen back to Peggy with a rueful smile.

Then there was a bit of magic.

Just as Angie was saying, "Obviously you've never seen Dolores Rivers or Sue Ellen Crouch" (the actual best pitchers in the league, in everyone's, including Angie's, opinion), Peggy said, "..and that includes Dolores Rivers and Sue Ellen Crouch."

Their eyes met. Peggy smiled, and Angie knew she could lose herself in those deep brown wells.

"I mean it," Peggy said earnestly, leaning slightly forward. "Dolores doesn't have your strikeout numbers, and Sue Ellen lacks your finesse. The way you pitch with such certainty and yet with class and control--it's truly marvelous."

Angie felt herself blink and she swallowed hard. She felt some embarrassing nonsense coming up and tried valiantly to stop it from coming out of her mouth--but to no avail.

"Well that sure means a lot coming from such a beautiful lady," she heard herself say. Those words came out of her mouth! To a stranger! Angie was horrified, mortified, her face hot and palms suddenly sweaty.

Peggy smiled her brilliant smile. "I quite meant it," Peggy said, after a moment. Now Angie was being reckless. "So did I," she said, briefly meeting Peggy's eyes before letting her own eyes dart a few feet down the alley, to her own feet, to Peggy's shiny but sensible black pumps.

Peggy laughed lightly. "Thank you." She paused. "It's lovely to see you up close. You clean up quite nicely for an athlete," she teased, winking. Angie's mouth felt like cotton--she randomly thought of Deborah's stories of her family's sharecropping cotton fields in Mississippi, why on earth was she thinking about that now--and she tried to swallow. Could this woman possibly be flirting with her?

But before she could choke out what would undoubtedly by something nonsensical, she noticed Peggy glancing around. "It's getting dark, Miss Martinelli. Could I perhaps--er, prevail upon you to join me for a cup of coffee? I think this automat is still open."

Peggy misunderstood Angie's stunned silence, a look of (what? Embarrassment? Concern?) on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I know you've just played a baseball game. You must be tired. I didn't mean to presume--I know you don't know me--"

Angie finally remembered how to put sentences together. "No, no, I'd love to! Please." Peggy beamed and led the way.

 

                                                                                                          

  
It was during her third story, this one about the Tunnel and the perils of skipping regimen, that one fact crystallized in Angie's head and realization dawned: she was no longer nervous.

She was chattering quite animatedly and had been for God Himself only knew how long, yet Peggy looked interested, maybe even enraptured. (Angie flattered herself.)

Peggy was quite possibly the best listener Angie had come across is a long time. There were no eyerolls or disinterested fidgeting, and not once had she tried to change the subject. She seemed content to simply listen, dark eyes studying Angie intently, as if she was trying to absorb every syllable. Every so often, she'd make encouraging noises or ask for clarification or a sound of agreement. Angie had never felt so _heard_.

"I feel like I been talking a mile a minute," she said finally, stopping to catch her breath and take a bite of her cherry pie that had grown cold. Peggy smiled. "Yes, it's been lovely. I feel like I've learned so much." She looked into her coffee cup and then back at Angie. "I've only been in Chicago a few months and haven't made too many friends quite yet. So it's nice to hear someone talk. And for that someone to be as interesting as you is quite the bonus." Peggy took a sip of her coffee, and Angie took the chance to take in Peggy's luscious eyelashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows.

To stop herself from another stupid thing, she cleared her throat and said instead, "So how does an English girl like you know so much about baseball?"

Here Peggy smiled and gave a throaty chuckle. "I worked with the allied forces the war, and nearly all of the Americans were obsessed with it," she said. "One solider in particular that I--" she faltered a bit but continued. "Worked closely with--his name was Steve--was a particularly avid fan of a team called the Dodgers, from his hometown in Brooklyn. He used to keep up with the game scores via radio and newspaper. He got me into it and explained the rules. It's quite similar to our game of cricket, you know, and I'd always been fond of cricket, my brother and me."

Angie felt a million questions ready to sprout from her throat but limited herself to one. "So what happened with Steve? Did he ever take you to any games, after the war?" A shadow passed over Peggy's face and she was silent for a moment. "Steve died in the war. He was a hero," she said finally, the saddest smile Angie had ever seen hovering on her lips.

Angie felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut, and a desperate sort of yearning to protect Peggy from any further pain. Something in Peggy's eyes told Angie that pain was no stranger to the English woman.

"I'm so sorry," Angie said softly, unsure of how to proceed. "Were you two...close?" Peggy picked up her coffee cup. "I loved him," she said simply, taking a sip of her coffee. "So when I came to the States after the war, I went to as many Dodgers games as I could. I ate hot dogs and peanuts and Cracker Jack and thought of him."

Angie kept her silence, hoping Peggy would continue. She lightly placed her hand on Peggy's forearm and squeezed. Peggy smiled at her appreciatively.

"It wasn't until I came to Chicago that I saw the women's league, and I've just been so impressed and excited ever since. I've always believed woman can do whatever men can. Especially after the war." Angie nodded. "Me, too. My Aunt Elisa always said the women were the true heroes of war. She also says there would be far fewer wars if women ruled the world."

Peggy laughed out loud. "Your aunt is absolutely correct. There were many women fighting overseas, but just as importantly the home effort--women in factories and running farms and offices--kept the country going."

"Makes me so mad that woman are getting the shaft now that the men are back," Angie said, bitterly, thinking of her sister Elena, who had recently lost her job at the factory to a returned GI. "That's the way it should be," her boss had said.

Peggy's eyes flashed fire. "It's a disgrace. Women are disrespected and ignored, yet form the backbone of every office and factory in America. Even at leadership levels, their knowledge and expertise are completely discounted, no matter how much experience they may have." She set her coffee cup down with a quiet yet decided bang. Angie wasn't a betting woman, but she was fairly certain this last part was personal for Peggy. She wondered what Peggy's job was like.

Just then the waitress came by to refill their water glasses, and Angie noticed her full bladder. She excused herself.

After washing her hands, she spent copious time in the mirror, smoothing her hair and reapplying her lipstick. When she returned to the table, Peggy had finished another cup of coffee. Angie sat down and glanced at her watch. She'd have to hustle if she wanted to catch her bus to the near South side. Peggy saw her look at her watch and gasped lightly, eyes widening. "Oh, Miss Martinelli. It must be quite late. I do hope you live near here?"

"Not too far," Angie assured her, scrambling to think of some way to ask to see Peggy again. "There's a bus stop a few blocks from here, and if I leave soon I can still catch it." Peggy nodded. "Allow me to accompany you?" she asked, picking up her purse. Angie went to take money from her wallet and pay for her meal, but Peggy stopped her. "I took the liberty of paying your bill, since I kept you from getting home."

Peggy seemed to have forgotten that Angie had followed her for multiple blocks. Angie saw no need to remind her.

The three block walk from the automat to the bus stop was a quiet one. The night was only slightly chilly, with a warm southerly wind intermittently whispering its secrets to the hemlines of the women's skirts. Their heels kept a leisurely tempo against the sidewalk.

Angie was glad Peggy had instinctively slowed her brisk pace to adjust for Angie's shorter legs and slower pace. Angie had always been an ambler--that too was something changed by the loss of her brother. _"Rallenta, slow down, Angie,"_ he'd always say with a laugh. _"You'll miss so much if you go so fast!"_

Angie and Peggy reached the bus stop. "Do you live pretty close?" Angie asked concernedly. "Oh, yes, quite," Peggy assured her. There was a pause. "I had a great time," Angie said, her shyness making a momentary reappearance. "I as well," Peggy agreed. Another pause. Was it Angie's imagination, or was Peggy looking at her with expectancy?

Angie took this as a sign.

"We should do this again sometime," Angie said, with what she hoped was the illusion of casualness. "Oh, yes, I'd love to!" Peggy seemed pleased. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a white card and handed it to Angie. "On the front is my office number. I'm there Mondays through Thursdays. On the back is my private number. You can reach me there in the evenings, generally."

Just then the bus pulled up. "I guess this is me," Angie said. Peggy smiled. "Call me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so late! I was out of town for a few days, and then my computer was dead for awhile and I freaked out. Things are okay now, though.
> 
> This chapter is short because I wanted to at least post something. I'll post part two, and full chapter notes, in another day or so. For now:
> 
> -I know this bit is a bit clunky and stilted. Part 2 hopefully won't be.  
> -I don't know if it's canon, but it just seems fitting that Steve Rogers would be a big baseball fan. So I made him one.  
> -Peggy never fully gets over Steve, but I like to think she eventually let herself move on. This story is set in 1948, which would be, as far as I can tell from research, about 5 years after Steve. Judging from personal experience, grief is a bit easier to talk about 5+ years on.  
> -I have this headcanon that Peggy isn't a big hotdog fan but is absolutely NUTS for Cracker Jack. And yes, it was around then!
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated, here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com) :)


	4. Chapter 3-Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie tells her friends about Peggy. Here's the first tiny glimpse at LGBTQ nightlight in 1940s Chicago.

Angie knew she should probably head home, but she was altogether too keyed up. Pitching a fantastic game plus meeting Peggy Carter was a recipe for the _can't stay still-can't stay still-can't stay still_ jitters she had now. Going home and going to sleep was not an option.

It was a Saturday night, after all, so her friends would be out on their typical Saturday night Bronzeville bar crawl. Judging by the time--11:15--they'd probably be at Cabin Inn, where Deborah worked week nights and got them discounts on drinks. Angie wondered if Deborah's paramour, Millie, would be there tonight.

Bronzeville and Towertown were the two major areas of Chicago where people like Angie and Deborah congregated. For the past two years, and before Angie had joined the women's baseball league, she and Deborah, their neighbors, Isabel and Esther, Deborah's cousin, Fred, and their friend, Mattie, had spent most weekends--and even some weeknights--in Bronzeville.

The year before she met Deborah, Angie had mainly patronized Towertown, the predominantly white community for people like her. She'd been at her favorite haunt, The Magic Horse, until 3AM one Saturday in 1944, about 6 weeks after her family had received the news about Angelo. That's when she'd been working at the steel mill (she shuddered at the memory). She'd spent the equivalent of a full day's pay on drinks, determined to soothe the ache in her heart with the cleansing liquid fire of alcohol. And it had seemed to work. Five drinks had given Angie the courage to finally flirt with the adorable blonde girl she'd been pining after for months, and it had gone well, at least at first.

Angie's memories of that night were foggy at best. There were hazy mind pictures of kisses in a corner booth, of her leading the girl--Ruth--into the bathroom; hands, hands everywhere, all over; the soft, downy skin of shoulders and stomachs and backs; Ruth's hot breath on her neck; smells of peppermint breath and camelia perfume; vomit ( _on Ruth's skirt and shoes! Shit! Angie had never drank that much before_ ); Angie alone in the bathroom, crumpled on the floor, weeping.

Angie didn't remember how long she'd stayed on the bathroom floor, but she did remember the brown face of the woman who'd found her there. She had the strongest arms, lifting Angie from the floor, practically carrying her outside. Somehow, Angie didn't remember how, they'd left the bar. Angie remembered waking up in unfamiliar surroundings that turned out to be the small house on the South West side that the brown-skinned woman--Deborah--had shared with 3 other girls.

Angie looked out the window up to the new moon, watching it get seemingly further and further away as the bus took her closer and closer to Bronzeville, her real home. She wondered idly if Peggy Carter was the kind of girl who could come to Bronzeville. Did she dare invite Peggy? _We'll just have to see_ , she thought, her mind wandering back to the memory from before.

The rest of the story of that fateful night she'd gotten secondhand from Deborah, as Angie was sure she'd passed out. Apparently, Deborah had taken off Angie's shoes and had tucked Angie into her own bed. She laid out a blanket for herself on the floor, next to Angie. Angie did remember waking up in the middle of the night, crying harder than ever, and she remembered Deborah comforting her, holding her, until Angie fell back into a fitful, restless sleep.

The first thing Angie remembered clearly was waking up on Sunday morning to the smell of bacon frying and a voice singing along to Billie Holiday on the radio. Blearily, Angie padded into the kitchen and saw Deborah at the stove, cooking and singing.

"Uh, hello," she said, with some trepidation. She could only imagine how she must look. Her tongue was thick and stuck to the roof of her mouth, her saliva tasted old, she was certain her breath smelled of whisky and vomit. Her head and body felt heavy, so heavy. She thought of something she had once read about in an encyclopedia, about bronze sculpture casting, how an artist would pour melted, molten bronze into a plaster cast and wait for it to cool. That was exactly how she felt.

The woman looked over her shoulder at her and smiled, her bright brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, hey, honey, you're awake. You sleep good? How you feelin'?" Angie rubbed the back of her neck and laughed ruefully. "Pretty awful," she admitted.

The woman had laughed a low, musical laugh that reminded Angie of the brass section of an orchestra. The brassy and confident trumpets, the sliding syncopated trombones, the mellow French horns. She thought of the many symphonies she'd watch with her nonna on television, Arturo Toscanini's spirited conducting leading the charge. _"Nessuno può fare quello che Toscanini può,"_ her grandmother would sometimes murmur, almost reverentially. Indeed, no one could do what Toscanini could. He was magic.

"Oh, I don't doubt you feel bad, honey. You drank yourself into some kinda stupor last night." Deborah walked over to the small kitchen table and placed a cup in front of the place setting. "Now you sit down here and drink this," she commanded. "You'll feel better." She winked and turned back to the stove.

Somehow, Angie felt she could trust this woman, and her instincts, like her mother's, were strong and rarely off. Walking over, she obediently sat and drank the liquid from the cup. It was disgusting-- _was that raw egg?_ \--but afterward, she felt more like herself.

"I'm Angie," she offered. "Nice to meet ya, Angie. I'm Deborah." Angie looked around her with some wonder. "I've never been in a Negro's house before," she continued. "It's not so different from my own house!" Deborah removed the pan from the stove and reached into a cabinet to grab two plates. She chuckled at Angie's remarks. "Almost like we're human just like you, huh?"

"Yes!" Angie had exclaimed, before blushing in profound embarrassment. "I meant, of course you are. I'm sorry." Deborah scooped scrambled eggs, bacon, and a yellow cakey substance onto the plates, pushing one in front of Angie. Angie was suddenly ravenous, and began nearly shoving food in her mouth. "This yellow cake," she said pointing, mouth full. "What is it?"

"It's cornbread," Deborah had told her with a laugh. "My mama's recipe." Angie cut another hunk of cornbread. "Your mama must be a saint, cause this is delicious. I wish I knew how to make it."

"Maybe I'll teach you how," Deborah had said.

Over the course of that breakfast, Angie had found out that Deborah's family, the Jacksons, had moved to Chicago from a cotton farm in Mississippi before Deborah had been born, her father had died had died in a freak accident when she was 9, she was the oldest of four, and she'd worked at the Magic House for a little over two years. It was open only on weekends because of the war, so she also worked as a maid.

Angie had told Deborah about Angelo, and Deborah had held her hand and looked at her with a deep kindess. "I can only imagine how you feel. My daddy died when I was young and it hurt like hell, but I have no idea what it's like to lose a brother to war." She squeezed Angie's hand. "But, honey? You can't keep pass out drinkin', you know that, right?" Angie looked away. Deborah squeezed her hand again. "Look at me, baby. You know I'm right. That stuff helps for awhile but it ain't never solved anythin' for good. Eventually, you gonna have to deal with that sadness head on." Angie nodded but changed the subject.

"My ma's probably wonderin' if I'm gonna come to Mass this morning," she said. "Are you?" Deborah asked. "No." Angie sighed. "I don't want to go to church." She paused. "Deborah. Last night, did you see a girl with me last night? Longish blonde hair, not so tall?"

"If you mean the girl you threw up on, the answer is yes," Deborah said wryly. Angie felt her cheeks color for the second time. "I can probably never show my face there again, huh?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Deborah shrugged. "It _is_ a bar, so they see probably see that kinda thing all the time. On the other hand, those folk in Towertown are too stuck up, anyways." She looked at Angie carefully. "You _could_ come out Bronzeville with me sometime," she'd said. "Folks there ain't so snobbish, and all the races just mix together with no trouble." Angie stared, taken aback. "Really? Whites and negroes together?"

"Yeah. Cause in Bronzeville, we know that all people like us gotta stick together, whether colored or white or what have you. It's a majority of colored people, but we got lotsa white folk, some Spanish, even Asian. All treated equal."

Unsure of how to handle this kind of progress, Angie had simply shaken her head. She shook it now, but this time out of utter love and devotion. Over the next few years, Deborah had become home, and Bronzeville had accepted her with open arms.

She thought back to her first Saturday night in Bronzeville. After a year and a half, she and Deborah had become close friends. They had moved together--over strong opposition from their respective parents--into one of noted, outspoken, and fearless lesbian tycoon Billie Le Roy's "apartments for young ladies" in 1946. Befriending Deborah and their neighbors across the hall (Isabel, whose family had come from Cuba, and Esther, who had been orphaned after her family was killed at a Japanese internment camp) had opened Angie's eyes in ways she could never had predicted. And so it was with only a little fear and trembling that she finally consented to accompanying Deborah to Bronzeville.

It had been a dusky evening in late September 1946, quiet and unremarkable. Angie followed Deborah as she made her way towards the center of town from the bus stop. They finally arrived on State Street and 47th, and though Deborah had briefed her beforehand on what to expect, Angie was still unprepared for the sight that met her eyes, and she had stopped in her tracks.

"This is what we call 'The Way'," Deborah said, with an unmasked, fond reverence. Angie could see why. The Way was a broad area encompassing about 8 streets, Angie guessed about 5 miles or so in total. From where Deborah and Angie stood, they could see all the way down State Street and Cottage Grove Ave, the two long main streets that ran straight through the heart of Bronzeville. State and Cottage Grove crossed 40th through 48th Streets.

The jewel in Bronzeville's crown was the Square, a flat, tiled park area lined with the tallest, most majestic red maple trees Angie had ever seen. The trees were in their brilliant autumn glory, leaves blod red and luminescent in the last rays of that day's sun. In the middle of the Square was a giant fountain, and around it sat multiple couples--men with men and women with women--all holding hands or kissing, some with heads together, as if sharing a confidence; others with heads thrown back in mirth, but none with heads bowed in shame or embarrassment, no furtive hiding.

The park was hemmed in by State Street on the left and Cottage Grove Avenue on the right. One the streets were bars, pubs, clubs, eateries with names like Club DeLisa, Joe's Deluxe, Cabin Inn, Pleasure Cafe, Washington Park, Jackson's. Jazz music poured out of every door and people seeped through every crack. That night was especially crowded as famed pianists, Tony Jackson and Rudy Richardson, were playing a dueling pianos event at Club DeLisa.

That night Deborah and Angie had headed to Cabin Inn, home of Valda Gray's troup of female impersonators, The Royalty. The Royalty, boasting such performers as "Joanne Crawford," "Jean La Rue," "Nancy Kelly," and "Dixie Lee," were back in Bronzeville after a summer residency in Towertown. Deborah was friends with "Nancy Kelly," a handsome dark-skinned man named Fredrick Douglass Waters. Fred was a department store clerk by day, and he often hooked them up with free tickets.

Back then, Angie had had no idea what a "female impersonator" was, but after the show, she'd fallen instantly in love, both with the show and with Bronzeville. After the show, she, Deborah, and Fred had visited other clubs and places that had become as familiar to Angie as her own house.

Things changed once Angie joined the women's baseball league, however. Because of the strict AAGPBL guidelines, Angie couldn't risk her reputation and public perception by coming to this area of town too often. And when she did come, she had to be very, very discreet. She used an assumed name around people who didn't know her, and she came only once or twice a month. She'd been there the previous weekend, trying to calm nerves before her first games. She wasn't due back for another few weeks, in order to keep her cover.

Nevertheless, tonight, Angie was risking it. She couldn't wait another 2 weeks to tell Deborah and Fred and the rest of her friends about Peggy Carter.

Climbing off the bus, Angie looked at the giant clock on the corner of State and 40th. It was 11:30; her friends were probably at Cabin Inn, waiting for Fred's 11:30 show to start.

Cabin Inn was a few blocks from the Square, and was the biggest club in Bronzeville. The outside of the building was painted black, with a marquee on the front, announcing the return of Valda and her Royalty. Inside, the walls were wine red, and were adorned with paintings and artwork. There were round tables around the outer perimeter of the large room, with the center cleared for dancing. At the back was a massive bar, and at the front a stage, with the curtain down.

Angie walked in and cut through the crowd, making her way to the front of the building and the door at the left of the stage. She knocked three times, and then twice, the secret knock. The door opened and there stood the bodyguard, a stocky, cocoa-skinned man with a beard, dressed all in black. "Well, hey there, Angie," the man said, smiling and stepping aside to let her in. Angie kicked him gently in the shin. "George. Please call me Natalie until I get inside," she whispered, hugging him anyway. Natalie Dawes had been her cover name ever since she'd joined the League.

Fred, a tall, handsome dark-skinned man, was standing in a corner, talking and laughing with Angie's roommate, Deborah. Fred was in full "Nancy Kelly" makeup, and wore a long, sparking deep blue dress, long white gloves, and a black, curly wig, with high black heels. He looked up and saw Angie, a surprised smile on his face. "Angie! We weren't expecting you this week," he said, grabbing her in a tight hug. Deborah followed suit, giving Angie a tight squeeze.

"I know, but I absolutely had to tell you about what happened tonight," she said, excitedly. "How'd your game go, honey?" Deborah asked. Fred looked concerned. "Those nerves come back, sweetheart?" Angie winced. "Yeah. They came back bad. But you'll never guess what happened!"

"Sweetie, you know you better tell me quick!" Fred had the patience of a child. "There was a woman! Remember, from last week, Deborah? Anyways, just as I was thinkin' I could do it, she stood up and cheered for me, loud and clear. And then a pitched a great game. Even better than last time. You really oughta come see me one day," she added, nudging Fred in the ribs. He rolled his eyes. "Child, you know I ain't never cared about baseball a single day in my life." Angie knew that was true.

"Fine, fine. Anyway, guess what happened after the game? I snuck out!" Angie said, not losing a breath. Deborah looked scandalized. "You didn't! Angie what if--" But Angie went on. "I did! I snuck out, and I found the woman. Well I mean, I followed her for a bit--"

Deborah pinched the bridge of her nose in slight desperation. "Angela Martinelli, please tell me you did not stalk an unsuspecting woman through the streets of Chicago at night, please tell me you didn't." Angie shrugged sheepishly. "I had to, Deborah. I just wanted to tell her thank you, ya know? I couldn't have pitched without her." Fred nodded seriously. "She was your muse," he said, encouragingly.

"Don't encourage her!" Deborah punched him lightly on the arm. Fred ignored her. "Did you talk to this woman?" Angie bobbed her head. "I did. And I have to tell you, it was an experience. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She looked like someone sculpted her. And then we had coffee!" Angie was almost jumping out of her skin with excitement.

Deborah finally relaxed. Fred stepped forward eagerly. "What was she like? What was she wearing? What did you talk about?" Just then a small, rail thin but gorgeous black woman, clad in a turban and feather boa, swept into the room. "Ladies, time to ready yourselves for the show," Valda Grey, the founder and den mother of the Royalty, said imperiously. She walked elegantly over to them. "Deborah Ann, my dear, how are you," she said in her slow, imperial drawl, taking Deborah's face into her hands and kissing both cheeks, as was her custom. She turned to Angie and repeated her ritual. "Angela, darling, so good to see you." Her words were always measured and enunciated, never exclaimed, never shouted. She then looked to Fred. "Fredrick, come. Your friends will be here later, I'm sure. The show is starting in 5."

Deborah and Angie left backstage and went to find their table, the one Fred always reserved for them. Already waiting there were Isabel Famosa and Esther Chou, their neighbors from the apartment across the hall.

"Angie!" they both exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" Isabel's delicate features relayed concern. "This isn't your week." Angie sat down as Deborah went to order their drinks. "I know. But I had to tell you guys about what happened tonight. I met this woman..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is massive, and I apologize. I'm sure you'll all understand now tho why I broke chapter 3 into parts! Here are this chapter's notes:
> 
> -Bronzeville and Towertown were both real, and most of the facts that I've listed (Bronzeville being racially diverse, Towertown being mostly white) are all true. Further, all the clubs I've named and a lot of the people (Rudy Richardson, Tony Jackson, Valda Gray) were all real LGBT musicians and impresarios who worked in Bronzeville.  
> -That being said, I have taken many, many, many liberties with the facts!!  
> -Fred isn't real, but it's true that many black, working class LGBTQ people were clerks in department stores at the time  
> -My map of Bronzeville is fictional, but it did stretch from State St to Cottage Grove Ave and encompass 43rd-47th Streets  
> -I didn't talk much about Towertown in this chapter, and The Magic Horse is fictional. However, Bille Le Roy is completely and incredibly real. She was an "out" (I guess that term didn't really exist then but it fits my purposes now) lesbian entrepreneur and she owned many lesbian bars and businesses in Chicago  
> -Honestly, just Google Bronzeville and Towertown if you have free time. The history of the LGBTQ community in Chicago is absolutely fascinating. I couldn't DREAM of doing it justice in this paltry fanfiction story. Tips for further reading:  
> 1\. http://www.windycitymediagroup.com/lgbt/Queer-Bronzeville-African-American-LGBTs-on-Chicagos-South-Side-1900-1985/36389.html (Must read!)  
> 2\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/queer-bronzeville/part-2/nancy-kelly (Interview with Lorenzo Banyard, the real "Nancy Kelly")  
> 3\. http://www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/1265.html (Some info about Towertown)  
> 4\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/chicago-stories (Various Chicago LGBTQ stories)  
> 5\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/raisedvoicesamongprettymanners (Profiles of 10 Chicago LGBTQ Activists of the 40s)  
> 6\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/queer-bronzeville (History of Bronzeville)  
> 7\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/leo-adams-a-gay-life-in-letter (The Life of a Gay Man, Leo Adams. Lots of information about day-to-life of a gay man at the time. More info about Towertown)
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for all the feedback and comments, please keep them coming. They are so helpful and encouraging. Don't be afraid to send me a message if you notice a plothole or have a suggestion for making something better. Leave me a comment here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie and Peggy embark on a friendship.

June was off to a fabulous start.

After doing two weeks' and six games' worth of bad pitching induced by the worst nerves of her life, Angie had almost miraculously rebounded in one week. After losing 6 games straight, her team, the Chicago Asters, had then won the next three. She didn't fully understand how, but having Peggy cheering for her every night had brought out the best in her.

The home team fans had been, as were most sports fans, fickle but forgiving; after the last game--just before Angie had snuck through the Tunnel to stalk Peggy--the fans had chanted "ANGIE! ANGIE! ANGIE!" for what had been the best 3 seconds of recent memory. Coach Branch was on her side again, too, though still a bit wary. She hadn't sent Sue Ellen back, but she hadn't started her, either.

"Think that streak'll hold up, kid?" Shirley had shouted after practice on Monday night, throwing the ball to Angie from her post on first base. Angie caught the ball and smiled. "I hope so." Center fielder Joan chimed in, "Yeah, me too!"

"Yeah, well how about you try not to miss any more pop fly's, how about that, Joanie?" Angie had shot back. Everyone laughed, even Joan. She had missed an easy catch last game.

As everyone was walking back to the locker room, Doris, the shy shortstop, sidled up to Angie. "I'm sure you're gonna do great, Angie. Sometimes it just takes a little while to find your feet, doesn't it?" Angie nodded gratefully. "Also helps to have someone screaming for you every night, don't it?" piped up Babe, from behind them. Doris and Angie laughed. "Oh that's right!" Doris said, intrigue dawning on her freckled face. "Did you ever track that lady down?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I heard you were gonna try and find her."

Angie was not surprised that news had traveled through the team. "Yeah I did," she said. "Well, out with it, who was she, what was she like?" Babe tried to lower her voice as well, with middling success. Angie had never met someone so completely incapable of whispering.

"She was lovely," Angie said, taking a breath and reminding herself not to gush. "She's English, and she just moved here from New York. She's a big baseball fan, and she likes our team" she continued. Babe and Doris pressed for more, but Angie didn't want to say too much.

Nor did she want to tell them she'd stalked Peggy for 6 blocks. And she especially didn't want to tell them they'd had coffee--and a connection (had they? Angie hoped so).

Yes, this June was off to a great start. Angie's coach and teammates were starting to warm to her, she was pitching well, her Aunt Lucia's soup at that Sunday's dinner had been divine, and she had met Peggy Carter.

In fact, Angie had ridden the high of meeting Peggy for the past 3 days. She'd thought about Peggy's nifty English accent all through Sunday morning Mass, and at dinner that afternoon she'd told her family that she'd found the _donna misterioso_. On Monday, she'd imagined when she'd see Peggy again--maybe that week at the game. And on Tuesday night, just as she and Deborah were going to bed (after Angie had spent the better part of the evening telling her about Peggy and not letting Deborah listen to her radio programs), Deborah had told her, "Honey, you need to take it slow, alright? Be careful. You don't know this woman, you don't know if she's like us, and you don't know if you can trust her. What you do know is you don't wanna get in no trouble, and god knows you don't wanna end up in jail."

Angie had sighed deeply and dropped dramatically into her bed. In another life, she could've been an actress. "I knoooowwww," she'd whined. "I know. But Peggy is just so, so..." she searched for the right word. "Fabulous," she finally decided on. Deborah turned off the lamp and huffed. "If you say so."

 

Something changed later that week. At least slightly.

Angie was nervous, but not about the next night's baseball game.

She was afraid to call Peggy.

Angie's social confidence, which had taken a bad hit after Angelo, had faltered again once she'd joined the women's league. The pressure of having to be "on" all the time, of having a public face, of having to hide a side of herself even deeper than she'd been hiding it since childhood, had somehow clouded her head. All of a sudden she started having trouble reading people, their faces, their intentions. Sometimes she missed social hints and cues. She questioned herself much more than she ever had before.

Having considered her and Peggy's coffee "date" from every conceivable side, she wondered: had she imagined the feeling? That connection, that charge? Was she projecting her own desires onto Peggy, a blank canvas? She didn't want to assume Peggy was interested in women or even in dating. Maybe Peggy just wanted a friend. Maybe she wasn't over this "Steve."

Yeah. She probably didn't like Angie that way. Which is fine, Angie thought. I have lots of friends that aren't like me. And she'd never had a problem interacting with them in a normal way; she didn't see every woman as a potential conquest, the way so many men did.

God knows she'd been disappointed before. Had her dreams crushed and heart broken. She tried not to think of Maria Castellucio or Edith Smalley or any of the pretty girls from high school.

And especially not Clara. That would never happen again. She wouldn't let it.

She thought about her friends now, the found family she adored. Deborah, her rock, her everything. Isabel, who listened and sympathized and spurred her to action. Esther, boisterous and fun-loving, who was teaching Angie to be fearless. Fred, funny, smart, strong, brave. Mattie, the sunshine who brought light and life to everything she touched. All the great people in Bronzeville, and even the ones in Towertown she didn't see as much.

Then it hit her: had she forgotten how to have straight friends?

Surely not. How could that even be, anyway? Most people were straight, weren't they? And Angie knew how to get along with most people.

But all of her close friends now were like her. Not that it had always been this way. She'd been the odd one out for almost as far back as she could remember--besides Angelo. Aside from Maria, her first love; Edith--that situation had mostly been a misunderstanding; and Clara, the one who had broken her heart, Angie hadn't met anyone like her until she'd ventured to Towertown years ago. So what had happened to her friends?

Angie had another realization: marriage. All of her childhood friends and friends from school were married, and many had moved away. Some hadn't returned from the war.

The ones that were still in Chicago had--changed, Angie supposed. They were all focused on their husbands and children, in rare cases, their jobs. She'd seen Maria Castellucio at Mass that Sunday, still tall and still beautiful, hair as dark as sable. Her three children hung off of her and her husband Robert like leeches.

 _Alright, adorable leeches_ , Angie thought begrudgingly. They looked so much like their mother, especially the oldest girl. She couldn't quite believe Maria had children now. Wasn't it only a few years ago when they'd been in middle school, kissing in the church closet?

Angie shook her head. What did all of this have to do with Peggy Carter? _Oh, right, straight friends._ Did she really not have any? How could that be? And what did it mean? Was she unable to be friends with a straight woman without wanting more? Would she be able to censor herself? What if something slipped out?

Surely she was paying to much mind to it. All she had to do was call Peggy and ask her to coffee or maybe a movie. That's what friends did. _Just pretend you're friends. Keep it casual._ But then Angie recalled the sadness on Peggy's face when she'd talked of Steve, her excitement when describing her love of baseball, and the smile she'd given Angie when she'd said, "Call me."

What if she couldn't keep it casual?

 

Wednesday evenings were one of Angie's favorite times of the week; Wednesdays and Sundays were her two weekly days off.

This particular Wednesday, Deborah, whom Angie had always believed was too invested in a clean house, had started making comments to Angie about the state of the apartment. She'd suggested, before she'd left for work that morning, that perhaps Angie could tidy up a bit before Deborah returned. Angie, who loved and respected Deborah like family, had agreed.

Well, that wasn't quite true. What had actually happened was Deborah had come right out and said, "Honey, I _know_ you ain't expectin' me to pick up all the shit you've strewn across this living room, Angie. I'm not your maid," and Angie--who hadn't washed her dishes three nights in a row, had yet to clean her hair out of the shower, and was a big believer in stripping off her clothes as soon as she walked through the door but was not a big a believer in putting them away--had hastily assured Deborah that she'd take care of it.

And she would, eventually. But first, she slept in; had a leisurely breakfast; took a walk; finished reading her weekly book (this week's selection was I Capture the Castle, a beautiful story by Dodie Smith); had an even more leisurely lunch, which included pie; danced to Glenn Miller and King Cole Trio records and sang along to the Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerland, Doris Day, and her favorite, Peggy Lee, on the radio; and talked to her mother and nonna on the phone.

She'd actually completely forgotten to clean until someone knocked on the door.

"Shit!" Angie had exclaimed, looking around at the house she'd failed to clean. She scrambled to the door and out of her favorite chair, an easy chair that she'd found discarded and Deborah had recovered with a dark, blue fabric.

"Oh, it's you," she said, with enormous relief, upon seeing Isabel, her tiny, Cuban, across-the-hall neighbor, standing in the doorway. Isabel raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, skepticism on her face oval, light brown face.

"Si, who were you expecting?" she asked, walking in. Angie closed the door. "I thought you might be Deborah with groceries or something," she said, motioning to the messy living room. Isabel rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. You promised her you'd have it cleaned when she got back from work, didn't you?" Angie shrugged. "I guess I got distracted." She looked at her watch, but she had neglected to put on her wristwatch. How had she not noticed that all day?

"Say, what time is it, anyway? Deborah'll be home around 8." Isabel was wearing her watch. "It's just after 7. Want some help?"

Angie considered all the laundry she needed to do, the dirty dishes, the hair in the shower, and her clothes in the living room, and she took Isabel's hands in hers. "Would you mind terribly?" she asked. "I'll make you dinner," she added.

"Of course I'll help," Isabel said, already pulling her thick, shiny black hair back and into a bright red bandanna that she'd apparently had at the ready.

This didn't surprise Angie, though. Isabel and her roommate Esther's place was always as neat as a pin (what was it with people and their obsession with neatness?), and smelled fresh and sweet. Isabel often--always--noticed when a restaurant or someone's home or store wasn't clean and tidy. Angie thought Isabel was rather obsessive about it, but other than some lighthearted ribbing, generally left it alone.

"So," Isabel was saying, arms already full of clothes. "Tell me some more about this Peggy Carter." Angie jumped at the chance. "Well, she--"

"But you gotta keep working," Isabel cut in. Angie grumbled but started collecting dishes to wash. "Alright, fine. Anyways! Isabel, she is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my whole life. And there's just something about her that makes you sit up and pay attention. Did I mention she's English?"

Isabel laughed. "Only a hundred times," she teased. "What's her accent like?" Angie sank into her chair. "Dreamy," she said, enraptured. "She sounds so polished and fancy and high class, but she's seems pretty grounded. And she knows so much about baseball, Isabel. Like, stats and everything. If you look at her, you don't like, 'oh she loves sports,' but she does. Because she dresses like a lady, and her makeup is so perfect. Not a hair out of place, you know?"

Isabel was making dishwater now. "You sound like you're gushing," she said, teasingly. "You like her, don't you?" Angie looked out the window, remembering the way Peggy had smiled at her. She sighed. "I just met her," she said. "And I don't even think she's, you know, like us."

Isabel looked at her carefully. "Rule #1, do not fall for a straight girl," she said, softly. Angie sighed again. "I know. I'm not gonna--we're just gonna be friends, okay? She just moved here, and doesn't know anyone yet. I'm just helping her out." From the sink Isabel made a non-committal noise. "So have you called her then?"

Angie fidgeted. "Well, no." she paused. "I'm, well, a little nervous. I guess. Maybe? I don't know."

Isabel didn't look up from the dishes. "You like her."

"No--"

"If you don't, and you're just friends, then why are you so nervous to talk to her? I've never known you to be nervous to talk to anyone." Angie shrugged. "This is different."

"Angie, she gave her telephone number for a reason. You really should just call her." Angie stood up and changed the subject. "I'm going to clean the bathroom," she said. "Be thinking about what you want me to make for dinner."

 

Arriving at Wilmot Field that next night, Angie was not quite as nervous as she'd been previously. Last week at the automat Peggy had assured her that she'd be at the game, which meant Angie could breathe easier.

Bev had pulled her aside just as the team was starting warm ups. "So how'd it go last week, using the Tunnel?" she asked, conspiratorially. "You have any trouble?" Angie assured her she had not. "And did you find out who your #1 fan is?" she nudged Angie in the ribs.

"Yeah, I did," she told Bev. "I talked to her a bit after the game. She's lovely." Bev looked pleased. "Good. Let me know when you need to get out again, and we'll get you on the schedule."

True to her word, Peggy was in attendance at the game, and Angie pitched well. She even batted decently, a fact Coach Branch was especially pleased with.

After the game, she took her time showering, changing clothes, and chatting with fans in the parking lot. A tiny girl, no more than 7 or 8, was hovering hear Angie. Her family seemed to be encouraging her to talk to Angie, but the little girl seemed apprehensive. Angie finished her conversation and walked over the the little girl's family. "Hiya, folks," she said, brightly. "Thanks for coming to the game!" The mom of the family nudged the little girl forward, saying, "Tell Miss Martinelli what you said to us, Ada," but Ada hid behind her mother's skirt.

"Hey, Ada, you wanna see this nifty bruise I got today?" Ada peaked out from behind her mother's skirt and nodded. "Come over here," Angie beckoned, and Ada walked over, taking Angie's arm in both her hands. "It's black and green!" she squealed. "Does it hurt?" Angie smiled. "Not too bad. I had fun gettin' it."

"It looked fun," Ada said shyly, her big green eyes peering up into Angie's own. Angie knelt until she was eye level with the little girl. "You like baseball, Ada?" she asked, softly, playing tugging the brim of Ada's cap. Ada nodded solemnly. "One day, I wanna play like you," she declared. "How'd you get so good?" Angie furrowed her brow and pretended to think.

"I practiced a lot," she said, finally. "You wouldn't believe how much." Ada looked like she wanted to talk more, but her parents were politely trying to usher her away. "Tell Miss Martinelli goodbye," her mother was saying. "But I don't wanna leave yet," Ada said, sadness taking over her small freckled face. "You'll see her next week, chipmunk," her father said.

"Can I give you a hug?" Ada asked, her face serious. Angie laughed. "Of course, sweetheart." She let the little girl drape her thin arms around her neck and held her for a second before letting go.

"Thanks for coming to the game!" Angie called after them, waving and smiling. She forgot she was on her knees until she turned around and found herself face-to-face with a pair of smooth, gorgeous legs.

"Why, Miss Martinelli. Fancy meeting you here," came a voice from above. Angie almost fell backward. "Hey, English!" popped out of her mouth before she could think, and if Peggy disapproved of the casual nickname, she didn't say, instead bending down to help Angie up.

"Hey, yourself," Peggy said, with a smile. Today she wore peach blouse and dark blue skirt, her hair softly curled. "Another great game," she added, tucking some stray hair behind her ear.

"Thanks," Angie said, unable to prevent a dumb grin from creeping onto her face. "I'm glad you came. It's--good to see you." Peggy looked at her and then briefly away, to the direction of the parking lot. "I thought you were going to call me," she said quietly but matter-of-factly. "Have you had a good week?"

Angie looked down at the ground, kicking a pebble. "I have. Have you? Had a good week, I mean." Peggy rolled her eyes and pushed air out of her mouth. "It's been alright," she said. "A bit challenging, but nothing I can't handle." There was a silence, and Peggy's dark eyes seemed to look for answers in Angie's.

"I was gonna call you," Angie blurted. "But I guess I kind of chickened out." Angie was surprised at her own honesty. Peggy's face crinkled in confusion. "Why ever would you be nervous to talk to me, Miss Martinelli?" She stepped closer and lightly touched Angie's forearm for a brief moment. "I thought we had a good time, at the automat."

Angie tried not to focus on the fleeting contact, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed the sensation of Peggy's soft, warm fingers. "Um, we did," she agreed, her thoat thick. Why did Peggy's eyes look so sad?

"So what am I missing?" Peggy asked quizzically. "Did I come on too strong?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I--I guess I didn't wanna presume or anything. Like maybe you were just bein' polite, y'know?" she looked back down at her feet. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, since I already tracked you down." She couldn't bring herself to look fully into Peggy's face.

"Miss Martinelli. Angie, if I may? I know we've just met, but there's something you need to know about me up front. I don't play games. If I say something, I mean it." Angie looked up and Peggy looked her directly in the eyes. "And if I give you my telephone number, trust me, I want you to have it." She winked. "Alright?"

Angie smiled and nodded, hoping Peggy hadn't noticed her briefly staring at her lips. Pull it together, Martinelli.

"Would you maybe like to have coffee again? Or do you have plans for this evening?" Peggy smiled. "I'd love to have coffee again." She looked mischievous. "We should go back to that automat we went to last week. You don't have to stalk me this time, though." Peggy smirked at her playfully and Angie felt her heart leap.

 

  
Over sandwiches, coffee, and pie, Angie and Peggy spent a wonderful couple of hours getting to know each other. Angie lost track of time as she once again did most of the talking, and Peggy once again looked quietly grateful to be in her company. She'd talked a bit more this time, especially when the conversation turned to baseball.

"You cannot be serious," Peggy exclaimed, mouth full of ham and swiss on rye. "There's no way Ted Williams is a better hitter than Joe DiMaggio! He's only been in one World Series, and even then his performance was so paltry!"

"Yeah maybe, but who's hit more home runs? He has. Plus, DiMaggio's too showy," Angie shot back. "And screw the Yankees. The Red Sox are better, although Chicago's the best." She shoved more pie in her mouth.

"You're biased because you live in Chicago," Peggy pointed out. "I'm not biased, it's facts!" Angie returned. "The only New York team I have any respect for is the Dodgers, cause they drafted Jackie Robinson." Peggy took a sip of coffee. "You know, I was there at his first game," she said. "In April of last year. It was unlike anything I've ever seen. The swearing and the vitriol towards that poor coloured man were hard to watch."

Angie nodded. "I believe it. So much of what happens to coloured people in this country is so hard." Peggy looked at her curiously. "Do you know many coloured people, Angie?" Angie took a sip of water. "Well, kind of," she said. "My best friend and roommate, Deborah, is coloured. And I have two really good friends who are Negroes, Mattie and Fred. And--" The paused. Should she mention Bronzeville? She decided against it. "And quite a few others," she finished.

Peggy looked impressed. "That's great, Angie. I'd love to meet some of your friends some time," she added, significantly. "I think they'd like you," Angie said, though unsure how they would meet. She decided to give it some thought later.

Though Peggy had demurred when Angie asked what she did for work--"I work at a laboratory," she'd said simply--she did tell Angie a little about her family. Her parents, Clive and April, lived in the north of England, she'd gone to boarding school, and she had a younger brother, Michael. Angie didn't ask about her war service, but she was curious about the last few years.

"So you moved from New York. How long were you there? What did you do?" Peggy chuckled. "I worked at a phone company in Manhattan." Angie waited a moment, but there was no more. Gosh. Getting information out of Peggy Carter was like pulling teeth. But if that was the case, Angie was a dentist.

"Well, how was it? Did ya like it? I bet it was a come down after fightin' in the war, huh?" Peggy shrugged. "You could say that." She paused. "It was exciting, I suppose, in its own way. I managed to get in a few, ah, shall we say, scrapes." There was a pause. "But I shouldn't like to bore you with that now. Perhaps I'll tell you more about it at a later time?" she said.

It was all Angie could do to not just out of her seat and scream, "Tell me now I want to know absolutely everything about you Peggy Carter!" but she bit her tongue. "Yeah, I'd love to hear all about your scrapes," she said, hoping desperately she didn't sound too eager. Peggy cocked her head slightly, looking as if she was trying to make up her mind.

"Well. Ah. I suppose I could tell you about--one thing." She cleared her throat. "There was this man. He had been irritating and condescending towards me for a long time. Because I'm a woman, you know, that kind of thing." Angie leaned forward. "Someone you worked with, then?"

Peggy nodded, warming to her story. "Yes. So, ah, one day I was, er, heading out on work business--"

"Like, phone company business?" Angie asked. Peggy paused. "Let's say yes. Phone company business. And there was this guy that I worked with. Er, stalking me, in a way. Following me." Angie couldn't help but lean in even more. Peggy's eyes were dancing with mischief and secrecy, a combination that was proving absolutely impossible to resist, and Angie was drinking in every word that fell from Peggy's lips as if they were the elixir of the gods.

"Go on," she urged. "Yes, well. Finally, I'd had enough, and I had to get him off my tail. So I turned around and, well, I knocked him out cold. And then I went on with my mission. Business." Peggy looked triumphant, her face radiating confidence and satisfaction, with humor shining through her eyes and smile. She looked like a modern Artemis, fresh from a conquest, defiant and strong.

Angie felt her mouth drop open of its own accord and she leaned back, a hand on her chest. "You're not serious," she gasped, awe and admiration flowing from her like steam. "I'm so serious," Peggy said, leaning in conspiratorially. "And it only took one punch."

Angie was suddenly very warm. Quite warm. Too warm. She'd seen Peggy's arms. They were indeed muscular and firm, and the thought of her having enough strength in a punch to knock a man out cold--

She needed air. She discreetly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and took a sip of water, but choked on it silently when she saw (thought she saw?) Peggy's eyes drop, briefly, to her chest. Did...that really just happen?

"That's the greatest thing I've heard all year," she said, when her powers of speech returned. "I only wish I could've been there to see it." Peggy smiled, biting her lip and looking at her hands. "It was quite impressive, if I do say so myself."

Angie wasn't satisfied. "So that must mean you're pretty strong," she pressed. Peggy looked thoughtful. "Well, yes, I suppose so. I'm not a heavy weight lifter, but I manage." Angie licked her lips. "Does that mean you can like, beat guys at arm wrestling? Or do a lot of pushups? Or lift weights or something like that?" Peggy laughed out loud. "Once I was in a one-arm pushup contest with three men. I've been told I did 107. It's possible I still can, though with my weaker left arm I can't quite make it past 95." She looked embarrassed at this perceived weakness.

Angie felt a different kind of weakness. She had a mental picture of Peggy Carter doing 107 one armed pushups. Her arm muscles rippling with tension, up and down, up and down. Her brow dripping with sweat, her face determined. Fuck. Her whole body, it seemed, went limp; she was sure that if she'd been standing she would have fainted.

Instead, she knocked over her glass of water onto her shirt.

"Oh shit," she mumbled, jumping up from her seat and grabbing napkins. Peggy looked at her amused. "Why don't you go dry off and I'll take care of the table," she said, stacking their empty plates and silverware.

Thankful for the out, Angie made her way to the bathroom, grabbing paper towels and dabbing her dress in absentminded frustration, still picturing Peggy beating all the men at pushups, pulling herself up off the floor, wiping sweat from her breast, breathing hard. She thought of Peggy knocking a man out cold with one punch and she believed the story. She also believed there was more to Peggy's former job at "the phone company" than Peggy was letting on, but she was content to let it lie for now.

Finally calm and composed, she walked back out to the dining room and sat down. "Is it noticeable that my shirt is soaked?" she asked. Angie felt the weight of Peggy's appreciative gaze on her chest and felt her neck flush slightly. She hoped it wasn't noticeable.

"No, it's ah, not noticeable," Peggy said finally, with a smile. "Shall we go? I've already taken care of the check." Angie stood up. "You didn't have to do that, English," she protested. Damn. Where was the nickname coming from?

Peggy just smiled.

Once outside the automat, the women turned to face each other. Angie really didn't want the night to end yet, and she got the feeling, from Peggy's expectant lingering, that she didn't either. Angie cleared her throat.

"That was nice," she said, just to say something. Peggy nodded. "That was lovely. Even if you're wrong about Joe DiMaggio." Angie looked up at her. "Don't start," she warned. Peggy just laughed. "So where to next, Miss Martinelli?" she asked, slipping her arm through Angie's. Angie's heart stuttered. _Calm down, Martinelli,_ she coached herself. _This is what women friends do. It doesn't mean anything. You're friends. That's all._

"Well, would you like to see a little more of downtown? There's this little park I like to go to after games and just sit and think. It's not a far walk, and it's still mostly light out.

"Lead on, Miss Martinelli," came the reply.

 

Angie led Peggy down a few streets, behind the A&P and the department stores, down an alley or two, and finally to a tiny park behind a mercantile shop. It was only technically a park; it mostly a small grove of trees and a bench. But the view of the Chicago River made up for the lack of features.

Angie motioned for Peggy to join her as she took a seat on the bench. "This is where I used to take my breaks when I worked at the steel factory," Angie said after a bit. "I liked the quiet and the view."

"It is pretty," Peggy agreed, looking around her. "When did you work at the factory?"

"During the war," Angie answered. "I was a riveter." Peggy turned to look at her, her face glowing softly in the dusky light. "Really? How was that?" Angie laughed a little, remembering bleeding fingers and the smell of steel.

"Tedious!" They both laughed quietly. "But there was also a kind of kinship, y'know, with the other women. 'Cause it was mostly women then, in '42, '43, '44. We all felt like we were a part of somethin' bigger than us, somethin' important." She paused. "Like we were fightin' the war in our own way." She snuck a look at Peggy, who was looking at her steadily. "I'm sure it's not as fancy as whatever the hell you got up to over there English, but it's how we could contribute." Peggy smiled. "We absolutely could not have won the war without you," Peggy said, with conviction. "What you did here was of the utmost importance, I assure you."

There was a long silence. Angie watched the river flow, the warm breeze creating ripples across the body of water.

"My twin brother died at Normandy," Angie breathed suddenly, the words rising from her chest like the tide. The words tasted familiar, but even though it had been four years, the feeling of loss hadn't gotten any less bitter. She didn't know why she'd told Peggy right at this moment. Maybe it was because she always felt Angelo in this place; she'd written him many letters on that very bench. Perhaps that was why.

Oh, she missed him still.

"Angie." Peggy said her name like a sacred text, tinged with sadness and compassion. "I'm so, so terribly sorry." She placed her hand, warm, strong, on top of Angie's and squeezed. "Would you like to talk about him now?" Angie nodded, a superfluous indicator in the gathering darkness.

"He was my best friend. I miss him every day. Every single day. He made me think and feel, and I made him laugh." Peggy remained silent, intermittently squeezing her hand, pulling it into her lap. "I think of him whenever I come here, because I used to write to him on my break. Right on this bench."

They were both silent for a long while, and Peggy never stopped holding Angie's hand.

Eventually Angie sighed. "He would like you," she said. "He'd be so impressed by how much you know about baseball." Peggy chuckled. "I'm sure I'd like him, too." A pause. "If he was anything at all like you, I'm sure I'd like him very much indeed." She looked right into Angie's eyes, and smiled.

Angie almost couldn't breathe. "I like you, too, English. I like you a lot." Then, even in the dusky moonlight, Angie could see Peggy's gaze drift to Angie's lips (she thought? She couldn't mistake that, right?), briefly, before smiling and quickly shifting her gaze back to the river.

God. Peggy Carter was beautiful. She had a perfect, Grecian profile, that strong, determined, set jawline that Angie was sure could cut through marble. Even her ears were pretty. For a brief moment, Angie wondered what would happen if she kissed Peggy, right there on the bench in front of the river. She'd take Peggy's face in her hands, pull her close. Maybe Peggy would tangle her fingers in Angie's hair.

Or she'd slap you, Angie thought, bitterly. Best not go down that road too early.

"I like that nickname," Peggy said with a laugh, bringing Angie back to reality. "Perfunctory but perfect, somehow." Angie beamed. "I thought so."

Peggy insisted on paying for a cab as it was so late, and despite protesting, Angie gave in. The cab ride was quiet; Angie missed Peggy's hand.

When they arrived at the Fillmore, Angie's building, Peggy asked the cab driver to wait and got out with Angie, walking her to her door. "I had a really lovely time," she said, earnestly. "Thank you for taking me to your special park and telling me about your brother. I feel privileged that you'd share that with me." Angie smiled up at her. "Thanks for listening. And for dinner. Again." There was an awkward pause as Angie twisted her purse strings and Peggy shuffled her feet.

Unexpectedly, Peggy leaned in and placed a kiss ever-so-softly on Angie's cheek. Angie felt herself shiver. "Have a good night, Angie. Call me this week. I mean it." She gave a little wave, and headed back to the cab.

Angie stood and watched it drive away, with only one thought on her mind: she was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly pleased with how this chapter turned out, but it's been a week and I wanted to post something before I lost my drive! Please hit me with suggestions on how I can make things better, what worked, and what didn't.
> 
> Not too many notes for this chapter:
> 
> -Homosexuality was not officially decriminalized in the United States as a whole until 2003 (holy shit!!), but most states decriminalized in the 70s and 80s. Interestingly, Illinois (where Chicago is located, for any of who not from America) was the first state to do so, in 1961. Everything Deborah tells Angie is true; if you were found to be a homosexual you could definitely go to prison or work camps.  
> -Please note period typical usage of "coloured people" and "Negroes"  
> -All the musical artists listed had hits in 1948, and I have made Angie partial to Peggy Lee because I am.  
> -I know I've been light on the actual game play of Angie's games, but that will change in future chapters.  
> -Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio were real American professional baseball players. Ted Williams played for the Boston Red Sox, and Joe DiMaggio played mostly for the New York Yankees. There were many rivalries in baseball, and Yankees vs Red Sox is one of the most long-standing.  
> -The descriptions of downtown Chicago are mostly fanciful for now, though there is a Chicago River.  
> -Lots of Agent Carter references in this chapter :)  
> -Finally, this next chapter will more than likely be from Peggy's point of view. If it works, I'll do it again; if not I'll scrap it and stick to Angie. Let me know what you guys think, on here or at my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com)
> 
> As always, thanks so much to everyone who's commented, left kudos, bookmarked, or sent me kind messages on Tumblr. You're all lovely :)


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Peggy's mind.

Peggy hadn't thought any American city could ever rival New York. And so when she'd gotten the job in Chicago, she'd hesitated; could she leave New York? _Should_ she? Despite the obstacles she'd faced, despite the pigheadedness of her coworkers, New York was Steve's home. It was the closest she could be to him again.

But she eventually decided she must go. She could use a new start, new environment, new people.

She would leave a week after she'd gotten the job, having tendered her two weeks' notice to Agent Thompson a week before. There was no need to lollygag.

She'd elected to take the train to Chicago, figuring she'd be able to see more of the country that way, and she packed lightly, limiting herself to two large suitcases. She could start over in the new city.

Edwin and Anna Jarvis had originally planned to come with her, but Anna had broken her arm three days before they were scheduled to leave, so their plans changed.

Precious, generous Anna, who had shown Peggy such kindness. After business with Howard and his inventions two years before, Jarvis had finally relented and agreed to let her meet Anna. After having met her, however, Peggy suspected that Anna had had more to do with them finally meeting than Jarvis let on.

She'd gone to visit Jarvis and Anna one day prior to leaving. Despite her protestations, Jarvis had insisted upon preparing her a fancy dinner, and Anna had regaled her with amusing anecdotes and funny stories from her childhood and Jarvis' work for Howard. Jarvis, as per usual, was mostly quiet, content to simply listen and look at his wife with pride and love radiating from his face.

After an hour or so of drinking coffee and sherry, listening politely to Benny Goodman (Peggy didn't care for woodwinds), and chatting quietly, Anna, always curious and interested in Peggy's comings and goings, had stood up. "Edwin, dearest, could I have a word with Peggy, for just a moment?"

"Of course." The tall, thin British man smiled and excused himself. Anna walked over and sat on the sofa next to Peggy, taking her hand.

"Peggy, dearest. Are you ready for this? Are you quite sure you must move so far away from us?" Despite her words, she looked at Peggy with only slight concern in her think, pretty face, an unmitigated fondness shining through light hazel eyes.

"I am sad to leave you and Jarvis," Peggy had admitted, "But I do think it's the right thing for me now." Anna nodded understandingly, yet Peggy saw moisture spring to her eyes.

"I'm just a little worried about you," Anna said. "You're so isolated, the majority of the time. Promise me you'll make friends and expand your horizons. Promise me," she urged, placing her hand on Peggy's cheek. Peggy nodded. "You deserve happiness, and you will find it. That's what I wish for you; love and happiness and fulfillment in your new life."

Peggy had never been one for emotional displays--her parents were British, after all--but even she felt strong feeling creeping into her voice. She tried to swallow it down. "Thank you, Anna," she said, endeavoring to infuse that one phrase with all the fondest affection she could. Expressing feelings didn't come easily.

Placated, Anna stood up, smiling gently. Peggy stood as well. "One more thing," Anna had said, taking Peggy's hand again. "Don't work too hard. Do try to have fun sometimes." She paused. "Perhaps you'll even meet someone?" Anna waggled her dark eyebrows exaggeratedly and Peggy had laughed, grateful for the levity.

Anna enveloped her with her good arm and squeezed, holding her in her typically long embrace. Again, Peggy had put aside her typical resistance to physical affection and let herself be hugged by the woman who had become her closest friend.

"You do know, of course, that Edwin and I are always here, should you need anything at all." Peggy nodded. "I know," she whispered, trying to smile. Anna smiled and called Jarvis. "Edwin, darling, I'm going to bed. Don't keep Peggy up too late, you hear me? She has a big day tomorrow." And with a wink, she'd headed up to bed.

Peggy then walked into the kitchen, where Jarvis was doing the washing up. She grabbed a towel and began drying; Jarvis looked at her fondly. "Guests are not required to help with the washing up, Miss Carter," he had said, as he always did. She laughed and returned, "Do shut up, Jarvis," as she always did.

After the dishes were clean, Jarvis had wiped his hands on his apron and walked Peggy to the car, one that Howard was letting her use. They stood in a companionable silence for a few moments. Finally, Jarvis said, clearing his throat, "It's been an honour getting to know you over these past two years, Miss Carter. And I can never fully express my appreciation for the way you befriended my Anna--" he drifted off, and Peggy felt her heart lurch. She hated this; she hated goodbyes. She'd barely kept herself from crying earlier with Anna.

"Er, Jarvis. Would you do me the colossal favor of taking me to the train station in the morning? I'm taking the ten o'clock from Penn Station, so it would coincide with your weekly trip to the house to look over Howard's property. We could, er, say goodbye then. Properly and whatnot," she'd finished, awkardly.

Jarvis had seemed grateful for the interruption. "Of course, Miss Carter. Have a good night." He shook her hand warmly and went back inside. Peggy had watched him go; that was the last time they'd seen each other. She had actually booked passage on the earliest train, leaving at 8am; she simply didn't wish to struggle through what could be an emotional goodbye. _How quintessentially British of you_ , she'd chided herself the next morning, in the cab to the train station. She'd left Jarvis a heartfelt note, and she knew he'd appreciated the gesture, secretly relieved.

Having boarded the train, she found her room and deposited her suitcases, returning to the main passenger cars to sit and stare out of the windows. It had been sometime since she'd taken a train ride longer than the distance between the various boroughs in New York City. Not since, well, her boarding school days, when she'd ride the L50 from Crowley Academy in London to her parents' home in Yorkshire. She was excited. Her vagabond nature disallowed her from putting down deep roots or settling for more than a few years at a time in any one place. While she adored Anna and Jarvis, she was ready for a new challenge and environment.

Not that she believed any city could ever be more important to her than New York. She didn't know how, and she wasn't a spiritual person by any means, but she had felt Steve Rogers everywhere she'd gone in New York. She felt his love for the city when she watched crowds cheer for the Dodgers baseball team, stuffing themselves with hot dogs; she felt him when she walked the streets of Brooklyn, especially the ones he'd pointed out as ones he'd been beaten up in, so many years earlier.

Even 6 years later, Steve and his memory haunted her. The promise of their--what? thwarted relationship? Almost happiness?--cut down in its prime. The sorrow, however, wasn't quite as bitter as it had been, the hole in her heart less gaping.

But while she had slowly began to move on from Steve, she continually mourned the loss of Captain America. The United States could use someone like him now, a symbol of truth and justice, to speak up and out for those still without a voice.

Steve occupied her thoughts that morning, and so she took out paper, as she often did, and wrote him a letter, all the way through the greenery of Pennsylvania. She should probably stop the habit, but she couldn't bear to. Not yet.

As the train chugged through the corn fields and wheat fields of Ohio and Indiana, her thoughts turned to scenery around her. The descriptive "America the Beautiful" was proving true; spacious skies and amber waves of grain were everywhere she looked. America truly was beautiful, as that hymn said. But it could, it had the potential, to be even more so--if only the many social injustices were put right.

Peggy was, at 10:45pm, glad she had sprung for a room with a bed. She was always amazed at how tired one could get by simply sitting still for hours. She didn't relish being still for long periods of time, preferring to keep her mind occupied at least, if not her hands and feet, too. She read a few chapters of Alan Paton's _Cry, The Beloved Country_ , and wrote a letter to Anna, before finally falling asleep.

When she had awoken at 5:30 that next morning, as she always did, she rose and padded over the window. As she drew the curtains, her breath caught in her throat at the view. The sun was dawning, and the sky was painted in shades of pink and red, clouding drawing back to announce the new day. The corn fields swayed back and forth, back and forth, in the morning breeze, their flowers reaching to the heavens. The brown and grey farmhouses, red barns, and silver silos whizzed past, some closer, some further away. There were herds of cattle and even some horses.

Horses were the one thing Peggy missed of her old life in England (besides the tea. She hadn't had a truly decent cup in years). She loved the majesty yet meekness of the racehorse, the stolid determination yet gentleness of the workhorse, the playful rebellion of young colts, the stubborn devotion of the mares to their foals.

She'd recalled being a young girl, perhaps 13, 14, and spending weeks at her aunt and uncle's farm in Yorkshire. They'd had four horses, chickens, and sheep, and Peggy always felt incredibly, irrepressibly alive during her visits. Once, Peggy's parents had been out of the country and Peggy and her brother, Michael, had spent a two-week long sojourn on the farm in the springtime. One of the mares, Lady, was pregnant and had gone into labour on the third night of their trip. Peggy had been awakened in the middle of the night by footsteps and muted shouts, and, going out to the barn, had seen her uncle and aunt assisting Lady in delivering her foal. She had begged to be allowed to help, and they had assented.

Her feeling of wonder at new life was mixed with apprehension and a bit of fear, as it was a difficult delivery. But finally, just after dawn, a beautiful chestnut foal, with a white diamond on her forehead, had emerged. Her uncle had let Peggy pick a name for the baby horse, and after some consideration Peggy had decided on Artemis, her favorite Greek goddess. Peggy had fallen instantly head over heels for Artemis, spending the rest of the visit persuading Lady, who had morphed into a very protective mother, into letting Peggy pet Artemis.

She bribed Lady with apple cores, carrots, and the occasional sugar cube, relishing the feel of Lady's velvet muzzle and the tickle of Lady's lips on her palm. Peggy would then slowly walk over to Artemis, who soon came to love Peggy as well, running to meet her, kicking her legs and pressing her nose to Peggy's cheek.

The next summer, Peggy's uncle allowed her to help train Artemis to a saddle. It was hard work, but Peggy never gave up, lost patience with, or spoke a harsh word to Artemis, no matter how much she bucked or shied away. Both her aunt and uncle had marveled at how determined and stubborn, yet gentle and natural the 15-year-old Peggy had been with Artemis, and her aunt swore that Peggy had broken Artemis in half the time it usually took her uncle.

Smiling at the memories, Peggy had opened the windows of her compartment, stuck out her head, and breathed deeply of the country air. She felt herself being rejuvenated, sadness and tension seeping slowly out of her system like some kind of reverse osmosis.

After washing and dressing, she'd packed and walked to the dining car for breakfast. She ordered tea, toast, boiled egg, and half a grapefruit, looking around and observing the surroundings. A familiar figure of a man caught her eye, a few tables ahead of her and to her left.

Rising from her table, she walked over, and sure enough, it was her well-dressed former colleague and friend, Philip Saunders.

"Phil?"

The man, who had been drinking coffee and reading a newspaper, looked up. His face, a smooth study in caramel tones, broken into a megawatt grin.

"Peggy Carter?" he exclaimed, setting down his cup and tossing down his paper. "How the hell are ya?" He stood, a hulking rock of a man--even taller than post-serum Steve had been--and shook her hand enthusiastically. "Please, join me," he said, gesturing to his table. Peggy motioned to the server, who was just arriving with her breakfast tray.

"What are you doing on a train to Chicago?" Phil had asked, still smiling. "It's been what, a year? Since I saw you last?"

Peggy had taken a sip of tea (it was shit, but she'd been expecting no less) and a bite of toast with marmalade before answering. "I'm moving to Chicago," she said. "I just got a new position there." She took another bite of toast. The marmalade had been quite good; she'd need to make a note of it. "What about you?" she'd asked, mouth full of toast. "What are you doing now? Are you still with the SSR?"

Phil had laughed his loud, boisterous laugh. "Oh, no. I got tired of swimming in place and shouting to deaf ears. I'm a consultant for finance companies. I'm actually heading to Chicago for a week or so to meet with some clients."

Peggy took an enormous bite of her grapefruit, more than she'd intended, and the sour sensation was almost overwhelming.

"Wow, so you're a big shot financier now, are you?" she teased, despite wheezing. She coughed and blinked, tears in her eyes. Phil laughed again and poured her a glass of water. "I see you still eat like a barely domesticated wolf," he observed. Peggy had kicked him under the table.

"I don't know if I'd say big shot, but I do alright," he'd said. Peggy downed her glass of water and pounded her chest. "So you know anyone in Chicago, Peg?" Phil asked. She'd shaken her head, still recovering from her citrus overreach. "Well, why don't I show you around for a day or two?" he offered. "I've got a few free evenings."

"Oh, I shouldn't like to presume upon your time, Philip." Peggy had broken the shell of her hard boiled egg with her spoon, undeterred from finishing breakfast. "Don't be silly," Phil had admonished. "You gotta place already?"

"I'm going to stay in a hotel for a few weeks while I look for an apartment. I don't have to report to work until Monday of next week." Phil looked thoughtful, rubbing a hand over his bald head. "Well, how about this. Why don't I let you get settled, and then call you maybe Wednesday or Thursday? We could go to a show, maybe get drinks."

Peggy nodded. "As long as it's not too much, Philip. I'm moving to a new city, not trying on a new personality." He'd smiled again and said, "You're gonna love Chicago, Peg."

Over breakfast, Peggy and Phil had reminisced about how they'd met, about a year and a half ago at the SSR. Phil had transferred to New York from the Los Angeles office. He and Peggy had gone on a single date, but despite their lack of romantic chemistry, had become fast friends, thanks to the other agents' continued stubborn ignoring of Peggy and willful dismissal of Phil and his brown skin. Phil and Peggy had banded together--Peggy couldn't resist outcasts and underdogs, and Phil couldn't abide the other agents. Eventually, he'd left New York to pursue other opportunities, and they hadn't seen each other since, though they'd occasionally exchanged letters.

"There it is," Phil had said, sometime after breakfast. "There's Chicago!" Peggy looked out of the window and was immediately transfixed. To her right was a towering skyline, with a view of the gorgeous Lake Michigan. There were freeways full of cars, trucks, and buses, and boats and barges made their way down the Chicago river. A familiar excitement rose in her chest: here it was at last, a new adventure was beginning. Who knew where it would lead, what people she would meet, what things she would discover?

Not long after, the train pulled into Union Station, which was fantastically vast and packed with commuters. "This is the busiest station outside of New York," Phil had commented, and she'd believed it. People streamed in every direction, everywhere she looked.

Phil had grabbed his suitcase and one of hers, she'd grabbed the other. "Follow me," he'd commanded, and she did, completely in awe of the massive Corinthian columns, the limestone facades, the sparkling marble floors. Everywhere she looked were brass lamps lighting the way from underground, up the grand staircases, and to the magnificent Great Hall, with its skylight ceiling and spotless wooden benches. She almost lost track of Phil several times.

Leading her out to the street and the taxi hail, Phil offered to accompany her to her hotel. The taxi introduced Peggy to her first views of Chicago's streets, bustling with people and swollen with skyscrapers, the tallest buildings Peggy had ever seen. Phil pointed out different places--museums, aquariums, bars, opera house--with excitement, and Peggy drank it all in.

Finally the taxi had arrived at the Sherman Hotel. Phil had asked the taxi driver to wait, and helped Peggy with her bags. He gave her a card with his name and number, and then left.

A dark-skinned bellboy ran up to Peggy and took her bags. Peggy checked in to her suite with no problem, and she tipped the bellboy generously. The suite was much too large, larger than she needed, but she decided to enjoy it.

She had then spent a wonderful week, the second week of April, completely immersing herself in the city, walking the streets, visiting shops, cafes, and parks. She'd had dinner with Phil while he was in town; one night he'd even tricked her into attending a midnight cabaret. She had made a show of complaining, but privately she rather enjoyed it. She loved seeing the women dancing and gyrating, their bodies flexible as rubber and lithe as colts, and she had long ceased being shocked or scandalized by the provocative nature of the environment. She'd admit it to no one, but she relished the sensory overload of nightclubs: the heady smell of gin and whiskey, the brassy jazz and crooning singers (she preferred the female ones), and all the people, the performers on the brightly lit stage and the groups of spectators, ranging from heady young people to couples engaged in dalliances and affairs in dimly lit booths.

She and Phil had imbibed large quantities of alcohol that night, resulting in Phil disappearing for sometime with a vivacious redhead; while he was occupied, a curvy blonde had slid into Peggy's booth and gotten very friendly. Peggy didn't remember much after that, but she woke up in her hotel room the next morning with a headache and red lipstick on her collarbone.

Things calmed down once Phil left, and Peggy once again threw herself into Chicago city life. She was strolling through Jackson Park on her lunch break one afternoon when she'd seen an advertisement for the upcoming All American Girls' Professional Baseball League season, and a thrill had gone through her. A professional women's league? Maybe there truly was hope for progress in the modern world.

She's been unable to make the season's opening games because of mandatory work training, but she soon decided she'd be at every game afterward.

Finally the Thursday night came when she was off of work. She hurried to Wilmot Field, bought her ticket, and elbowed her way to seats as near the diamond as she could get. She'd heard the Chicago Asters, the home team, had signed a bright new pitcher, and Peggy was excited to see if the pitcher lived up to the hype. Listening to the fans around her, however, it seemed that Angie Martinelli, the previously mentioned pitcher, had been a colossal disappointment, thus far. Her first two weeks, the season opener games Peggy had had to miss, had proven disastrous, and there was talk of pulling her from the roster.

It seemed Coach Branch, the Asters' coach, had decided to recruit another pitcher in Martinelli's place, and while Peggy understood the decision--as the only female coach, Branch undoubtedly felt enormous pressure to dispel any doubts and would do whatever it took to do so--but Peggy's instinctual impulse for the underdog won out.

She ascertained that Martinelli would come into the game halfway through, and as soon as Peggy saw the small, slim strip of a girl ascend to the mound, her posture spelling out defeat, Peggy knew immediately what she had to do. Peggy Carter could not resist an underdog.

She'd yelled and shouted support for the pitcher, despite the undercurrent of disapproval from the fans around her. The young pitcher had seemed startled by this show of support, as had the crowd. Nevertheless, when Peggy refused to stop cheering, the crowd has given up and joined her. Martinelli had seemed to draw strength from this, and it wasn't long until Peggy saw why there'd been so much talk about this pitcher.

Quite simply, Angie Martinelli was brilliant.

Over the next few games, Peggy continued to staunchly cheer, willing Angie to do her best. It seemed she had; the Asters had won their next three games, thanks to Martinelli's renewed pitching and strong performances from the rest of the team.

Peggy had been thinking about this as she'd headed out of Wilmot Field on Saturday evening. It was still light out, so she took her time getting back. Sometimes into her walking, however, she felt the always-dreaded sensation of being followed, and her training automatically kicked into gear.

Twisting and turning, she led her would-be assailant on a merry chase, finally confronting them, her trusty pistol at the ready. Angrily demanding her attacker show themselves, she was wholly unprepared for the sight that met her eyes. For there before her had stood Angie Martinelli.

Angie looked small and bewildered, yet curious and hopeful and, to Peggy's even greater surprise, perfectly lovely.

As Peggy had gotten closer, she could see and appreciate the woman's slim but athletic build, her muscled arms and sweet, sweet face. While Angie spoke animatedly and familiarly to Peggy, as if they'd always known each other, Peggy couldn't help but feel as if she was in the presence of someone special. Angie's name was fitting, Peggy decided; the harsh lights of the automat where they'd had coffee illuminated the blonde in Angie's hair, a pedestrian halo. Angie's eyes were blue, bright cobalt blue, quite similar to the iron blue of Steve's.

Peggy noticed everything about this radiant woman, but what made her forget to breathe was Angie's smile.

Angie's smile was--how to even to do it justice? It was wide and full, stretching from ear to ear, as the saying went, and during their automat conversation, it was generously, almost benevolently bestowed on Peggy, as if from a magnanimous deity, Peggy's unbelief notwithstanding.

Angie's waterfall of words and phrases were punctuated by the gift of her smile--red lips and white teeth were so mundane, yet, in Angie, so revelatory--and her laughter. Peggy watched nearly in awe as Angie flitted from subject to subject like a hummingbird, waving her hands and wagging her fingers, shaking her head and blinking rapidly. Peggy felt something akin to reverence, and even though she had no use for religion nor an appreciation for imagery, she felt, while walking Angie to her bus stop, that somehow the sky had opened and the sun was shining directly on her, that God had given her a gift, this utterly charming, lovely, angel girl.

Peggy had had her business card, with her personal telephone number scrawled on the back, in her hand since Angie had left for the bathroom; she'd only pretended to fish it casually out of her purse when Angie's bus had arrived. She'd waited in vain for three days for Angie to call her, and felt foolish. She had never been a wait by the phone kind of person. And she was too proud to admit even to herself her disappointment that Angie had neglected to call.

But Peggy Carter did not give up, and she did not admit defeat easily. The next week she was back at the baseball games, cheering for Angie, and determined to talk to her afterwards. On Thursday, after the game, Peggy had waited almost patiently for Angie to greet the crowds of fans that had gathered to see her, all the while drawing closer herself. Finally there one one family left, with a little girl shyly talking to Angie.

Watching Angie kneel to little girl's level and engage with her had made Peggy's chest hurt, but she couldn't quite put a finger on why. She filed it away with the miscellaneous other nameless feelings she only seemed to have, recently, around Angie.

Peggy was proud of how laissez-faire she sounded when accepting Angie's apology for not calling, but it was a lie. In actuality, she had seized upon Angie's bashful admission of nervousness as a sign--but of what kind, she neglected to acknowledge.

That evening, in their encore appearance at the automat, Peggy had again been captivated. What a ray of sunshine this woman was. And how oddly comfortable Peggy had felt, telling Angie of her own life, as much as she thought appropriate for a first, well, not date (that was nonsense. Where had that come from?)

Angie's attitude of genuine impression when Peggy tried not to brag about her pushup capability, paired with how utterly kind and compassionate she had been when Peggy spoke of Steve, had affected Peggy. This woman seemed to really care about her, despite the fact that they'd only recently met.

Peggy had experienced an strange jolt of excitement when Angie had suggested they go for a walk after coffee at the automat. Though the walk itself had been outwardly silent, Peggy's mind had swum with thoughts about Angie, trying to put together an idea of who this stunning woman was.

Her mind had been so occupied with this that she had very nearly missed Angie's quiet declaration of loss. It had caused Peggy real pain to know that this woman who seemed so full of love and life and light grieved so deeply, and that Peggy had not been there.

And so conflicting desires arose in Peggy; she wanted to fight one hundred battles to protect Angie's heart; she also longed to wrap her in a thick, warm blanket and give her thermoses of (good) tea. But most strongly and surprisingly, she couldn't shake a desire to take Angie in her arms and kiss her and not let her go. Which had been so completely ludicrous and out of left field that Peggy had almost laughed out loud.

That wasn't what this was. Angie was not the bewitching Private Claire Lorraine; she wasn't trying to seduce Peggy. So why then did Angie keep looking up at her through hooded eyes and long lashes? Peggy willed herself to stop looking at her lips.

_For god's sake. Keep your composure!_

Peggy was enormously relieved when Angie wanted to head back, and she quietly enjoyed the cab ride on the way back to Angie's place. In a move involving equal parts foolish risk, self-control testing, and masochism, Peggy had decided a kiss on the cheek would be fine, appropriate, and maybe even expected. Peggy felt she was deceiving herself in this respect, but Angie seemed to but it, with a smile and a promise to call Peggy that week.

No, Peggy Carter didn't believe God existed. But she now believed in angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little risky and I'm not sure it actually works. It takes place completely in Peggy's mind, a few days after chapter 4. It's a long, unbroken, stream-of-consciousness flashback, basically her side of the events so far, with a few gaps about why she left New York and how she ended up in Chicago being filled in. Like chapter 3, it's going to be in two parts.
> 
> But again, I'm not sure this chapter works. Feedback is definitely appreciated. Let me know if it's too much, if it seems out of touch for the character, and if I should have addressed the issue of Peggy's job first (that's what will be in chapter 2).
> 
> Just a few notes:
> 
> -I took great liberties with Anna Jarvis, since her character is very nearly unknown. She'll pop up again.  
> -My character of Phil Saunders is based, at least appearance wise, one someone quite specific. Points if you figure it out! Hint: the person is a huge fan of Hayley Atwell in real life.  
> -Yes, I hinted at a Peggy/Pvt. Lorraine romance. I was inspired by this crack post on tumblr (http://crazyintheeast.tumblr.com/post/119340390470/lets-talk-about-peggy-carter-and-private-lorraine)!  
> -My descriptions of Chicago are a bit more specific in this chapter, and everything is most historically accurate. I relied heavily on Wikipedia and this awesome video: http://chicago.curbed.com/archives/2015/05/08/1948-chicago-documentary.php
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and feedback. Keep it coming, here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie and Peggy get a little closer.

Angie decided that she'd better call Peggy before she lost her nerve.

"Decided to call," however, differed markedly from "actually called," and it was Sunday afternoon before she picked up the phone. _Just do it you idiot!_   she coached herself as she rang the number.

Peggy answered after the second ring. "Hello?" Angie gulped. It was now or never. "Hey English," she chirped. "It's Angie. How are ya?" _Fake it till you make it_ , she thought. "Oh, Angie! I'm quite well, thanks. And yourself? Enjoying your Sunday, I hope?"

"Yeah, it's pretty good. Headed out to my ma's for family dinner, but I wanted to catch you first." She paused, gathering her courage. "Listen, um, would you maybe like to maybe get coffee or somethin' sometime next week?"

"I'd love to. When?" Angie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "How about Tuesday evening?" she tried not to shout into the phone. "Tuesday's fine. But perhaps not coffee again. I was actually wondering if maybe--well, if maybe you would teach me how to hit a baseball? I've always wanted to learn but never got around to it."

Angie was glad Peggy couldn't see the undignified grin that was spreading across her face. "Of course! We can use the batting cage at Wilmot. Wear something you don't mind getting sweaty," she added. "Fantastic!" Peggy answered.

"Pick you up at 8?" Angie almost bit her tongue. _Goddamit, Martinelli, you were doing so well!_

There was a split second of silence. "I mean, not pick you up like in a date. Cause it's not that. I just meant I'll come to your place. Or I don't have to," she rushed on. "We can meet at the field. Would that be better? Let's meet at the field. Right out front, at around 8:00?" _Stop talking, you fool! Just stop!_

There was a chuckle at the other end. "Don't be silly, Angie. I'd love for you to come pick me up. I know it's not a--date."

"Oh yeah good, because it's not, you know. A date. We're not--we're just--"

"Angie," Peggy interrupted gently, "We've established the fact that this is not a date." Another pause. "So, um, I'll see you Tuesday then?"

"Yes, at 8. Have a good evening, Angie."

"Uh, yeah, you too, English." Angie hung up, shaking her head and chiding herself. "Well that was horrifically embarrassing. Way to go, Martinelli."

 

Peggy was enthusiasm itself on Tuesday night. She was clad in tight green military style pants and a casual white shirt, wearing a dodgers baseball cap when Angie arrived at her apartment. Angie laughed out loud.

"Well you sure look the part, English," she greeted Peggy, who grinned. "Is the hat too much?" Angie shook her head. "Nah, it's good! Except maybe--" she reached up and adjusted the cap, pulling it up a little so she could see Peggy's eyes. "That's better. You ready for this?" Peggy nodded eagerly. "Lead on!"

The batting cages were always deserted on Tuesday evenings, which was precisely why Angie had suggested it. Once they'd arrived, she took Peggy on a tour of the locker room and dugout before leading her to the batting cages, located behind and to the right of the diamond. She'd taken two baseball bats from the locker room and now handed them to Peggy to hold, as she unlocked the door to the batting cage.

They walked into the space, about 200 feet long and 25 feet wide, enclosed by fencing, with a metal contraption at one end. "What is that?" Peggy asked, curious. "That's what shoots the balls at you. But we're not going to use it tonight. I'm going to take it easy on ya, since you're just learning." Peggy looked determined but said nothing.

"Alright then. Come over here and take this," Angie commanded, handing Peggy a bat when she walked over. "Hitting a baseball is about skill, timing, and eye/hand coordination, right? You gotta know how and when and how hard to swing." Peggy nodded intently.

"So first I'm gonna show you how I do it," Angie said, trotting over to turn on the machine. After dropping in three baseballs, she turned it on and ran back to where Peggy stood. "Watch," she commanded, picking up a bat. With a clank and a whirr, a fastball shot out of the machine and towards her. She took a quick breath and swung, hitting the ball as hard as she could.

_You don't have to show off, Martinelli. You already are a professional baseball player._

She repeated the performance twice, and then ran over to turn off the machine. "That was amazing, how you did that with such ease and grace," Peggy said, clearly impressed. Angie tried not to blush. "Thanks. Now get your bat and come over." Peggy did as she was told. "Alright. So first off, you gotta get in position. Get your body right." She motioned to herself. "You take your bat, lift it up so your elbows stick out and the top of the bat is over your shoulder. But make sure your neck and shoulders are relaxed. Then you crouch a bit, by bendin' your knees and stickin' your backside out just slightly, like this. Now you try." Peggy picked up her bat and stiffly imitated Angie's posture. "Like this?" she asked.

"Nah, your legs are too far apart. And your shoulders are too high. You wanna relax your shoulders, remember? And your legs should be--"

"Can't you just show me?" Peggy broke in. Angie assumed the position again. "Watch me this time. Elbows up, shoulders relaxed. Knees bent, but not like that. You're not supposed to squat!" Angie broke into a laugh. "You look kinda like a frog now."

"Angie! Come OVER HERE and show me then. SHOW me!" Peggy stomped her foot in agitation, which did not help Angie's giggles. "Alright, alright," Angie said, dropping her bat and walking over to stand in front of Peggy. "Straighten your back a little," she said, pointing. "And bring your shoulders down some, too."

"Like this?" Peggy demonstrated. "Almost," Angie said. "Here, let me just show you for a second..." She reached up and placed her hands on Peggy's strong shoulders, pushing them down slightly. "Relax," she said. Walking behind her, Angie tentatively reached out and placed her hands on Peggy's sides, pulling her torso up.

"There you go," she said. "Now, I'll show you how to swing." Angie demonstrated a few practice swings. "Now you try." Grimacing, Peggy gripped the bat and swung--but neglected to hold on to the bat, and it flew out of her hands and some feet away. "Oh, dear," she said, going to retrieve it. Angie laughed again. "Try to keep the bat in your hands this time," she teased. Peggy stuck out her tongue and swung again. She did manage to hold on to the bat this time.

"That was better, but try not to twist your arms so much. Swinging should come from the knees and the torso as much as the arms." Angie demonstrated again. Peggy looked at her for a moment. "Could you--show me how? Like you did a few minutes ago? Perhaps you could--er, nevermind," she shook her head. Angie cocked her head. "You mean..." She walked over and stood behind Peggy until her body was nearly flush with Peggy's back, though she studiously avoided making contact with Peggy's rather luscious (if she was being brutally honest) backside. Peggy still smelled wonderful, like spice and flowers, despite the thin sheen of sweat on her neck. Taking a shallow breath, Angie then put her arms over Peggy's, as far as she could reach, and swung the bat, guiding Peggy's arms.

After completing the swing, Angie sprung away from Peggy, as a child might from a barking dog or a red hot stove. "Y-yes, um, like that," she stuttered, bending down to pick up her own bat. Peggy looked at her curiously, but simply smiled. "So what's next, coach?" She asked. Angie cleared her throat. "I'll throw you a few slow balls and see if you can hit them," she said, reaching for the baseball at her feet. She lobbed a few easy underhand pitches at Peggy, and Peggy hit most of them.

"Alright, that's not bad for your first time," Angie said, though she was secretly pleased. "Try some real pitches now," Peggy demanded. "I don't think you're ready for that," Angie said, cocking an eyebrow. "Just let me try," Peggy insisted, putting her hands on her hips. Angie rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you asked for it."

Peggy didn't hit any of Angie's fastballs, as Angie knew she wouldn't, and Angie couldn't keep the smug look off of her face. "'Ohh, just let me try it,'" she mimicked. "'I want some real pitches!'" Peggy looked stubborn. "It was only my first time," she said with a rueful laugh. "I just wanted to see what the great Angie Martinelli's pitches were like." She paused. "You have a really great arm," she added. Angie looked down at her feet. "Oh, well, thanks. You, ah, show some potential with batting. With practice, and if you ever learn to relax your shoulders, you could be pretty good."

Peggy looked at her intently. "I wonder if you'd mind giving me a bit of further help with my stance," she asked after a moment. Angie felt a creeping heat at the base of her neck. "No, I wouldn't mind at all." She put the ball down and walked over to where Peggy stood and picked up a bat. "Watch me," she said. Peggy obeyed. "Alright, now look. See my arms, how loose they are? My shoulders are relaxed too. Not tense, like yours. I'm bending my knees slightly, just slightly. And look at my backside, how it's positioned."

Angie had tried not to notice Peggy dutifully noticing each body part Angie listed with her eyes, but when she got to Angie's backside, Angie couldn't help but notice how Peggy's gaze seemed to turn more...appreciative. She felt herself blush lightly.

"Right, now let's see you try it again." Peggy dutifully lifted her band, a look of fierce determination on her face. "Much better!" Angie said, approvingly. "Throw me some pitches!" Peggy said, swinging the bat with newfound proficiency.

Angie picked up the ball and threw a soft, slow pitch. Peggy connected with a strong swing, knocking the ball to the back of the cage. "Yes!" she pumped her fist in the air. "Again!"

Angie threw a few more pitches, and Peggy hit every one. "You're getting good!" Angie praised. Peggy shook her head. "Now throw a real pitch. Maybe not at top speed, but don't make it easy." Angie winked. "Try this."

She wound up and threw a beautiful fastball, straight down the line. Peggy hit it with a loud crack, and Angie cheered. "Again!"

Angie threw a few more pitches before she had an idea. Instead of a fastball this time, she'd throw Peggy a curveball and see what happened. Angie wound up and released, and like magic, the ball curved away from Peggy, who swung wildly but missed.

"Hey! What was that?" she cried, throwing her bat down. "How did I miss that?" Angie had dissolved into giggles. "That, my friend, was a curveball. And you weren't even close to hitting it!" Peggy pushed her baseball cap up and wiped her brow. "You literally threw me a curveball," she said, smiling despite her slight annoyance. "I was doing pretty well before though, right?"

Angie walked over to where Peggy stood, looking into her eyes. "You did great, English. You're a fast learner." Peggy seemed proud. "I can't believe Angela Martinelli taught me how to play baseball," she said with a brilliant smile. Angie felt her heart skip a little but ignored it. "I am a good teacher," she agreed. Peggy laughed. "You're very confident," she teased. "I like that very much." Angie made the mistake of looking into Peggy's eyes and felt her mouth go dry. _Curses!_

"We, uh, should probably go," she said with a cough. "It's 10:00 and I don't want to miss my bus." Peggy looked at her watch. "Is it really that late? I completely lost track of time."

"They say time flies when you're having fun," Angie offered, with a smile. "I did have a fantastic time," Peggy agreed. "I always seem to with you." Peggy looked at her intently for the second time that night. "I quite like you, Angie." Angie felt as if a bird had taken flight in her chest. "I like you too, Peggy." She willed herself not to say any more.

Peggy smiled. "Are you free this Friday night, Angie, after the game? I thought we might see a movie. If you're not too tired," she added quickly. Angie rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly, English. I'd love to." They turned to head out of the cage, and Angie took the key out of her pocket.

Peggy smiled. "Pick you up at 9? Outside of the stadium?" Angie nodded, bending slightly to lock the cafe door. "Yeah, that should give me enough time." As she stood up and turned around, however, Peggy was directly in her path, lips quirked into a smirk. "But remember Angie--it's still not..." she paused, lowering her voice significantly before continuing, "A date." Angie watched Peggy's gaze fall, briefly, to her lips; then she laughed and turning to head towards the stadium. Angie took a second to catch her breath before trotting along after Peggy.

Peggy Carter would be the death of her.

 

Wednesday was another beautiful sunny day, made even more so by the memory of last night. Angie wasn't surprised that Peggy Carter was the first thing on her mind that morning; she was pretty sure she'd dreamed about the Englishwoman the night before. She wished she was seeing Peggy again tonight, instead of the League Social she was required to go to. She groaned.

But at least it meant she got to dress up. Angie loved dressing up. She always had, though her family had found it somewhat incongruous with her athleticism and love of tree climbing. "What tomboy likes wearing dresses?" her beautiful oldest sister would often ask with some confusion. But Angie had never believed that people had to fit into boxes; she could like playing in the street with neighborhood boys and she could also love dolls.

What she didn't like was going to socials, like the mandatory Women's League Social tonight. They always felt too stiff and tried too hard to be informal, with too much pressure to be funny and charming to the majority of attendees. Business socials were even worse; Angie's natural and generally manageable social anxiousness was always compounded when surrounded by people who could affect her job. There would be comments about her performance and level of adherence to the League rules, and also ways in which to be even more conventionally attractive to Middle America.

Angie never felt more fake then at the last social, when she'd been cornered by a chaperone from another team, who told her she'd been wearing too much rouge and her hands weren't soft enough. "Don't forget, Miss Martinelli, when this is all over, you still have to get a man to marry you," the woman--Carol--had said kindly but concernedly. "Could you try something different with your hair?" Angie had looked around for some relief, but to no avail. It had been a long night.

"Do you absolutely have to go to that thing?" Deborah asked early that evening, having returned uncharacteristically early from work. Angie wondered if it had anything to do with Millie.

"It's mandatory, Deborah, just like the last one," she said with resignation. "I'm going to go and be pretty, make pointless conversation, and be lectured about ways to be more ladylike." Deborah was rolling her eyes in amusement. "Nice change of subject, by the way, but I haven't forgotten what I originally asked. How come you're home so early? How were things with Millie to day?" Deborah stood quickly and seemed to head for the bathroom, but Angie was too fast. She jumped in front of Deborah and crossed her arms, tapping her foot.

"Tell me!" she demanded. "You know I won't stop asking until you do." Deborah laughed a little. "You don't give up, do you?" Angie shook her head stubbornly, much like she had as a child when her mother insisted she eat her broccoli.

"No, I don't, and I won't. Now tell me! I know something happened, I can see it in your face." Deborah ran her fingers through her mop of kinky curls; her nervous habit. "Well," she said finally. "Well." She fidgeted.

It was all Angie could do to not physically shake Deborah. "Well," Deborah said finally. "I guess--we sort of, kissed."

That was too much. Angie screamed and jumped forward, grabbing Deborah's face. "What??? What do you mean 'sort of'? Sit down here and tell me EVERY SINGLE DETAIL!" She dragged Deborah over to the sofa and sat her down. "Speak," she commanded. "How did it happen? What were you doing? Who initiated it? Why aren't you telling me about it?"

"Perhaps because you haven't stopped shouting long enough to let me get a word in edge-wise, honey," Deborah said, wryly. Angie supposed she had a point, and sat down and tried not to interrupt.

"Everyone was gone when I got to work today. Even the rest of the help. Mr. V has been out of the country for two weeks, and Mrs. V went on a trip with her bridge friends. The boys aren't home from university yet, and Millie, even though she doesn't work, is usually out during the day.

"I didn't mind, really. I'd rather be alone, because it means I can try and dash through my duties--which were already light since most everybody's gone--and have some time to just relax. Which I did today. I grabbed a bottle of pop from the ice box and reclined in one of the chairs by the pool. I musta dozed off, because I woke up to find Millie lightly stroking my face."

Angie was literally on the edge of her seat. "Then what?" Deborah shook her head but Angie could tell she was warming to her tale, brown eyes dancing despite her reserved posture.

"Well, I played it cool. Told her I hadn't been expecting her home till the evening. She said she'd finished early. So I sat up and asked her what she needed me to do, which made her irritated. She always gets frustrated when I remind her I'm the hired help, but I don't want her to forget. I don't want to get let go--or worse." Angie knew this was true--she'd heard many stories of colored people being fired for skimpy offenses.

"But she said she didn't have any chores for me, so I stood up and told her I'm sure I could find something to do around the house. Maybe repolish the silver, though I'd done it two days before. As I started to walk away, she called my name and grabbed my hand--" Angie let out an audible gasp--"and pulled me into her arms--"

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Deborah rolled her eyes. "You are so dramatic," she said, before continuing, "And yes, then she kissed me, right there by the pool. Full on the mouth in the late afternoon."

Angie was standing now, completely beside herself. She'd been wanting this for forever. "Then what? Did you kiss her back? Was there more kissing? Did you talk about it?" Deborah looked out of the window, a faraway look on her dark features.

"Yeah, I kissed her back," she said finally, not quite meeting Angie's eyes. "How was it? The kissing, I mean?" Deborah tried to suppress her smile. "It was good," she said. "Really, really good." She sighed deeply. Angie looked at her with some curiosity.

"If it was so good, why is your smile so sad? What happened? Did--did she do something? Say something? Deborah, if she hurt you, I swear to Almighty God--"

Deborah laughed a little. "No, honey, nothing like that. Millie is--she said she really likes me." Angie cocked her head. "You really like her, too, right?" Deborah nodded. "Then what's the problem?" She walked over to Deborah and put a hand on her shoulder. "Honey? Talk to me. What's wrong?" Deborah shrugged. "Do you think how we feel about each other matters, Angie? Will matter, in the future? She's a rich white girl, from a good family. I'm a poor coloured maid. How do you think this story ends?"

Angie said nothing for a moment, choosing instead to simply stroke Deborah's hand. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Angie knew Deborah was right; and yet she couldn't bear to see her best friend so hopeless.

"No one knows what the future holds, honey," she said gently. "And sure, it will probably be rough. Even rougher than it is for me. Worse than I'll ever know--and that kills me. Kills me." Angie took Deborah's other hand. "But can you just, I don't know, take it slowly? Carefully? One day at a time? Even if nothing comes of this, you could at least enjoy yourself for a little while. And if anyone deserves that, sweetheart, it's you."

Deborah sighed a deep, long sigh, and Angie thought her heart might break for friend. Sometimes--a lot of the time--Angie hated society.

"Maybe I could get her to come to Bronzeville sometime," Deborah suggested softly. Angie squeezed her hands. "That's a great idea. You could also maybe invite her over to dinner some night. I'll cook for you."

Deborah smiled and wrapped Angie into a hug. "You do cook pretty good for a white girl," she teased. Angie kissed her forehead fondly. "You bet your sweet ass I do."

 

The social was everything Angie expected--until it wasn't.

The six eastern conference teams--Kenosha and Racine from Wisconsin, Indianapolis and Brookfield from Indiana, and Springfield and Chicago, Angie's team, from Illinois--were gathered at the home of Conrad Haight, local business tycoon and owner of the women's league.

His house was expansive, modeled off of a Scottish castle, complete with turrets and bay windows. The social itself was held on the house's massive grounds. There were something like 2 or 3 acres, Angie estimated, after she arrived with her teammates on the chartered bus.

There were women everywhere in small groups--the most popular and fashionable players spread out on the terrace, while the less graceful players congregated in clusters around the food tables, by the manmade pond, huddled together under the maple trees, and by the manicured shrubs.

After taking in the sweeping view, Angie made a beeline for the food. There were hot dogs, green bean casserole, ham, mashed potatoes, yams, steamed carrots, and macaroni and cheese. Angie was hungry enough to eat some of everything twice, including the bastardized pasta, though she'd be sure to leave it unmentioned at the next family dinner.

She had just finished her second plate when a dark-haired woman caught her attention. She was standing near a maple tree, talking to three other women rather furtively. She kept glancing at Angie.

Were they discussing her copious appetite? _If so,_ Angie thought, _I oughta give them a piece of my mind. I'm hungry, damn it. And the food is here to be eaten, ain't it?_

She ate another hot dog to spite them, and when they glanced her way again, she decided she'd had enough. Throwing her plate and napkin into the nearby garbage bin, she indignantly made her way over to the group.

"Hi there," greeted the dark-haired girl, a smile on her face. "Don't you hi me. I saw you watchin' me. You gotta problem, tell me to my face."

The women all exchanged glances. In addition to the dark-haired woman, there was another tall brunette, a shorter, stockier blonde, and a slim strawberry blonde with glasses.

"Oh, uh, no...we don't, there's no problem," the woman with dark hair reassured Angie with a laugh. Angie squinted her eyes. "Then why do you keep lookin' at me?" There was another awkward pause and the women all looked at each other. "Some of us just thought you, ah, had really nice hair," said the girl with glasses, glancing at the woman with dark hair. Everyone nodded.

"Yes, that's it really nice hair," they all said. "Oh and I like that shade of lipstick. It looks good on you," added the tall brunette. "Yes, and that blouse really brings out your eyes," piped up the short blonde. Angie cocked her head. What was happening?

"Well, thanks, I guess, you're all very kind," she said bemusedly, unsure of where they were going with these compliments. She turned to walk away but the dark-haired woman stepped closer. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, "Does the word 'violets' mean anything in particular to you?"

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh._

Angie raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps." she paused. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. What happens if I say yes?" She knew she needed to tread exceedingly carefully; she'd heard of a few chaperones who stealthily tried to sniff out violets in the League.

"The only thing that'll happen if you say yes is you might make some new friends," the short blonde girl said, with a wink. Angie paused. "You?" The woman nodded. Angie motioned to the other women. They all nodded, too.

Angie pursed her lips and looked around, over both her shoulders and into the distance. "If this turns out to be a sting I'll deny everything and say you set me up," she warned. The women laughed quietly. "No need for that, I promise. I swear it's not a sting." The dark-haired woman stuck out her hand. "I'm Laura Hillenbrand. First base for Kenosha. Nice to meet you." The other women introduced themselves, as well. The short blonde was Becky Rogers, shortstop for Racine; the brunette was Linda Langley, Racine's center fielder, and the strawberry blonde with glasses was Mabel Bethune, catcher for Kenosha.

Angie shook their hands. "Angie Martinelli, pitcher for Chicago," she said. "So you girls are all...violets?" They all nodded. Angie breathed a huge sigh of relief. "I though I might be the only one," she confessed. They laughed. "Not by a long shot!"

From there, Angie's social experience improved by leaps and bounds. The women were all funny and charming and talkative; they made Angie feel right at home. As the social ended, they decided to form a violets club, exchanging addresses with each other and promising to get together whenever they were in someone's town.

Angie returned to the bus with lightness in her step. Of course she hadn't been the only person like her in the whole League. There were others, probably even more than she'd met tonight. She wondered who they might be.

"Who were those girls you were talkin' to all evening?" Babe asked on the ride back downtown.

"Oh, just some girls from the Wisconsin teams," Angie answered with a smile. "Did you try that apple pie?"

 

That Friday night, Angie sped through her shower and raced through the Tunnel to meet Peggy after the game. Peggy was outside the Tunnel door as planned, and she was resplendent in a plum purple dress, hair curled, eyes shining. Angie almost had to remind herself to breathe. Almost.

Angie insisted on picking the movie, and she decided on I Remember Mama, based on the Broadway show of the same name. She was slightly obsessed with Broadway, and talked quite animatedly on the walk to the theater. It was a bit of a stroll from the Wilmot, but it was around the corner from Angie's building and Angie very much liked the feeling of walking home with Peggy.

She had also insisted on paying, since Peggy had wanted to see The Naked City, a movie about a murdered model, that Angie had quickly vetoed. They found seats in the middle back of the theater, and proceeded to giggle like schoolgirls during the pre-film ads. But for all her proclaimed disinterest in Broadway, Peggy was engrossed in the semi-autobiographical tale of the Norwegian matriarch. Once, Angie looked over to see Peggy's eyes were slightly moist; Angie smiled to herself.

Walking out of the theater, Angie excitedly shared trivia with Peggy. "You know, they originally wanted Greta Garbo to play Mama, but she didn't want to play a motherly role." Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Really? Garbo?" Angie nodded eagerly. "I think Irene Dunne was a better pick though. And even though she's 50, she looks so youthful. They had to age her with makeup for the film."

"She's obviously going to earn the Academy Award nomination for that, isn't she?" Peggy slipped her arm through Angie's as they walked back towards Angie and Deborah's. "Yes, and she should. I love Irene Dunne. She's talented and so dreamy. I mean, she has a very classic beauty," she stammered. _Why aren't you being more careful, Martinelli?_

Peggy looked at her out of the side of her eye, a small smile on her face. "You like brunettes, do you?"

"Oh, yeah I love brunettes. Er, dark hair." Angie stole a glance at Peggy. "The darker the better." Peggy looked at her again. "Is that so?"

"It is." They had finally arrived at Angie's building, and Angie turned to face Peggy. "You want to know something else I like?" She tried to keep her tone playful, even though the moonlight was dancing on Peggy's hair, and the dark purple of her dress brought out the hazel streaks in her eyes, and her red lipstick hadn't faded all night.

Peggy stepped closer. "Oh, yes, please share." Angie gulped. "Well, I--I love accents. Especially English ones." She twiddled her thumbs and tried not to catch Peggy's eye, but she couldn't duck Peggy's insistent gaze. "Would you possibly be interested in some things I like?" Peggy asked after a moment. "Oh, sure, why not," Angie said, trying to be blase.

"Well," Peggy started, "I suppose I have a bit of thing for Americans." Angie laughed. "As you should!" Peggy chuckled too. "Hmm. And I like blue eyes. Really like blue eyes. Among other...attributes." Angie's eyes followed Peggy's gaze, causing her heart to beat wildly.

Oh, god. How on earth was she not supposed to kiss this woman? _Control yourself, Martinelli. Don't do this._

But of course, Angie was nothing if not a glutton for punishment. "What kind of other...attributes?" she asked, her voice huskier than she meant for it to be. She bit her lip unconsciously. _Keep it together, woman!_

Peggy leaned forward--Angie's heart almost quit beating--until her lips were near Angie's right ear. "I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?" she whispered, breath light but hot on Angie's neck. Angie shivered hard as Peggy turned to leave.

"Good night, Angie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This past week was so busy I literally did not have a moment to write!! But I'm finally back with another chapter. I actually have a better idea for the next chapter but I needed to move the plot a bit first. Feedback is welcome as always, but I already know this one is less than stellar.
> 
> Not too many notes for this chapter:
> 
> 1\. All the baseball talk is residual from my years of childhood softball! An amalgamation of things all my coaches told me about batting. I was a pretty good hitter, fielder, and catcher :)  
> 2\. Here's what a batting cage is: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batting_cage and what it looks like: http://www.carronnet.com/cnmultisportcages/images/aweb10_1_opt.jpg and https://www.instantbaseball.com/sites/www.instantbaseball.com/files/images/products/40ft_batting_cage_lg.jpg  
> 3\. I Remember Mama was a real movie, starring Irene Dunn. All the trivia Angie spouts is true, too. I Remember Mama earned 5 Academy Award nominations.
> 
> Again, feel free to tell me your thoughts or point out any typos! I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own. Hmu on tumblr, yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com :)


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some developments.

Saturday morning Angie awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs frying, which was quite possibly her favorite smell. Besides Peggy Carter last night. That perfume was to die for.

Angie padded out to the kitchen, where Deborah stood at the stove. "Well, well, well, look who's awake!" she said, teasingly. Angie made a face. "Hush, you. You know I need my beauty rest. Can I have some of your breakfast?" She attemped to steal a strip of bacon but Deborah smacked her hand. "Yes, you can have some, but later. Isabel and Esther are coming in fifteen minutes. Go brush your teeth." She turned to reach into a cabinet and Angie took the opportunity to grab a strip of bacon, dashing out of the room before Deborah turned around. "I saw that!" Deborah called.

Angie had just thrown on a dress when she heard her neighbors burst into the apartment. As usual, she could hear Esther's boisterous voice long before the woman came into view.

"Angie! I feel as if I haven't seen you in months!" Esther cried, throwing her thin arms around Angie, who squeezed back. "That's because it _has_ been months," Angie laughed. "Oh, you cut your hair!" she exclaimed, after taking a second to regard the Japanese woman.

"Yes, and thank you for noticing. I want you to know that my own roommate didn't even notice for 3 days," she said, shooting a glare at Isabel, who rolled her eyes. "Ay, how many times must I apologize? I guess I was too busy hearing about your trip and sorting out the mess after you dumped your suitcases everywhere," she said, sharing a knowing glance with Deborah. They both despaired of ever getting their roommates to clean up after themselves.

"Deborah, my love, I've missed you as well! How are you? I thought of you and the mysterious Millie often. Any developments?" Deborah smiled. "Maybe there are, maybe there ain't. For now, you two wash your hands, and Angie, come set the table. I'm hungry."

The women all did as they were told, and soon they were all sitting at the kitchen table, Isabel and Esther having brought their own chairs. Esther pulled the full story of Deborah and Millie's kiss out of Deborah in the way that only she could (How she had such a knack for getting people to talk, Angie had never understood--especially since it often seemed Esther rarely stopped talking herself). After that, she told them about her trip to New York to visit her adoptive parents, regaling them with tale after tale of her travels.

The conversation then shifted to Angie. "How goes the baseball playing?" she asked eagerly, and Angie excitedly filled her in, telling her all about spring training in Cuba, her teammates, and her first games. When she got to the part about her enthusiastic fan Peggy, Esther almost fell over.

"Yes, they're practically going steady," Deborah said with a laugh. "More like, Angie wishes they were," Isabel chimed in. Esther's eyes grew wide. "What?" she cried, slapping the table with her palms. "Explain!"

Angie was blushing hard. "No, no, shut up, that's--we're just friends," she protested, weakly. "Sure, but you two sure are out a lot. Twice a week, which is more than you've done with any of us recently," Deborah pointed out.

Well. That was true.

"Angie gave her a one-on-one coaching session on Tuesday," Deborah told Esther. "They went to the movies last night, and you would not believe the stars in Angie's eyes when she got home!" Esther turned to Angie. "Sooo?" she prodded.

Angie was caught. "Alright, fine! Fine. I like her. A lot. But if you met her, you'd understand. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She's English, and her accent is like music. She fought in the war, she's really strong, and she has fantastic legs and deep brown eyes..."

Angie noticed the other women smirking and exchanging knowing looks and quickly stopped talking. "Sounds like you've got it pretty bad, Angie," she crowed. "And about time, too. I can't even recall the last time you had a lady." Angie shrugged. She didn't want to think about that.

"So is she as keen on you as you obviously are for her?" Angie shrugged lightly. "I don't think, well, I don't know if she's--like us. She told me about her former flame, who was a soldier who died in the war. It was a guy. But here's what's interesting, alright," she went on, "I'm fairly sure, kind of, that she could possibly be--keen. For me, I mean. Because, I could be reading into things--"

"As you've been know to do on numerous occasions," Deborah broke in. Angie ignored her, though she was right, and continued. "I feel as if she's been sending me signals." Deborah and Isabel looked dubious, but Esther was intrigued. "What kind of signals?"

Angie told them about the stolen and shared glances, the touches, the whispers, the intense looks. Esther was exceedingly pleased and declared that this was indeed evidence of interest on Peggy's part. Isabel, ever the skeptic, looked unconvinced, saying she'd need to see for herself.

"Sometimes you do see things that aren't quite there, Angie. Even if you're not in this case--which I'm sure you're not--you don't really know this Peggy. You don't know her history or intent, right? Whatever you pick up on could just be her way of...relating to people."

Angie knew she had a point. "I suppose you're right," she said slowly. "Just be careful," Esther said. "Yes, that's all I'm saying," Isabel hastily agreed. Angie patted her arm. "I know."

Isabel and Esther left soon after, having to get to work. Esther hung back while Isabel chatted with Deborah. "I do agree with Isabel that you should be careful. That's the sensible thing. But you should also trust yourself, Angie. You have great intuition, and you know when you have a connection with someone. Don't give it too much thought--and most importantly, don't obsess over it. I know you get ideas in your head and don't let go until they mess you up. Just relax. Got it?"

Angie nodded and gave Esther a grateful hug. "Tea sometime soon, alright?"

Almost the moment Deborah shut the door, there was a loud clap of thunder, in split seconds there was a torrential downpour. Angie grabbed Deborah's arm, under the guise of checking the time (it was noon).

"This doesn't bode well for the game tonight," she commented, walking over to the window briefly. "I wonder if they'll cancel it?"

"What happens if they do? Do you just make it up?" Deborah asked from the kitchen. "I think we'd play Monday or Tuesday," Angie answered. Just then there was another peal of thunder and Angie quickly made her way back to kitchen.

After cleaning up, Angie settled on the sofa with a book, and Deborah took out her mountain of mending she'd been working on. Before she knew it, hours had flown by and it was four o'clock. The rain had only slightly lessened its angry onslaught, and with the game due to start at six, she knew it would be cancelled.

Sure enough, Coach Branch called at five o'clock on the dot. "No game today, Martinelli. Rescheduled to Tuesday. Enjoy your weekend," she said gruffly, before hanging up. Angie turned to Deborah, who was now snoozing on the couch. Smiling, Angie sat down, snuggled into Deborah's warm side, and fell asleep.

She was awakened sometime later by Deborah gently rubbing her arm. "I gotta get up, honey." It was still pouring rain, and Angie didn't want to budge. "Do you have to work tonight?" she asked sleepily.

"Yeah, at Cabin Inn." Angie still didn't move. "Can't you just stay here with me?" she whined, snuggling harder. Deborah chuckled. "Honey, I know you hate bein' alone when it's rainin', but last I checked, the rent still has to be paid." Angie groaned and begrudgingly let Deborah get up, then followed her into their room.

"Can I come with you then?" Angie knew she was whining but she couldn't help it. "Is it your week to be in Bronzeville?" Deborah looked over at her from the closet. It wasn't Angie's week and she knew it. "I'm tired of having a stupid schedule telling me when I can see my friends," she said, petulantly.

Deborah was shimmying out of her dress and into her work uniform. "Did you or did you not come up with that schedule yourself? So you wouldn't come too often and no one would suspect anything? You changin' your mind about keepin' a low profile? Changed your mind about keepin' your dream job?" She stepped into her black work shoes and looked over at Angie. "Well?"

Angie followed her to the bathroom. "No," she grumbled. Deborah smiled mischievously. "Why don't you call that Peggy Carter and see what she's doing?"

Angie shifted her weight. "Well, I suppose, er--" Deborah rolled her eyes, pulling her hair back. "Girl, just do it. See if you get any more signals." She left the bathroom and Angie followed. "But--what if she says no?"

"Then turn on the radio, child. I need to go." Angie hugged her. "I love you."

"I know, honey. See you tonight."

 

Angie gathered the courage to call Peggy at about 6:45, having rehearsed her conversation in her head for an hour after Deborah left. _Just do it!_ she coached herself, as she picked up the receiver and rang the number.

As before, Peggy answered on the third ring. "Hello?" Angie cleared her throat. "Hey, Peggy. It's Angie. How are ya?"

"I'm quite good, Angie. Especially now that you've called. It's after six o'clock and still raining, so I take it the game is off?" Angie nodded. Why she always nodded in phone conversations, she had no idea.

"Yeah. The field is always a swamp after the rain." There was a pause. "Um, so what are you doing?" Peggy chuckled. "Not very much, to be quite honest. And you?"

"Nada," Angie confessed. "Just watchin' the rain from the living room. It's not comin' down as hard as it was before, which is good."

"That's true." Another pause. "Would you like me to come over, Angie? Or you could come here," Peggy suggested. Angie's heart leapt. What luck! "I'd rather come over there, if you don't mind. I've been in the house all day and I wanna get out. I'm not afraid of a little rain." _Thunder and lightning, on the other hand..._

"Fantastic. You can come whenever you'd like. I'll have the kettle on."

Angie set out 20 minutes later, armed with a raincoat and umbrella. The bus arrived, on time for once, and she boarded, excitement rising in her chest.

It had been awhile since she'd been to the Near North Side--not since she'd stopped going to Towertown, the only reason she'd ventured North in the first place. She stopped going there almost directly after she'd discovered Bronzeville. After experiencing the melting pot, loud, heady, passionate and boozy atmosphere of Bronzeville, she just didn't enjoy the sleek sophistication and exclusivity (and, she had to admit, all-whiteness) of Towertown. She wondered if Peggy knew about Towertown. _Probably not!_

The bus brought her within 3 blocks of Peggy's building, and though the rain was still falling, Angie's umbrella was up to the task. It did little good, however, when a car drove by and directly through a massive puddle on Angie's side of the road; her right side was soaked before she had a chance to scramble out of the way.

"Damn it!" she screamed, shaking her fist at the car as it sped away. At least Peggy's building was on the next block. It was big and brick and looked spacious and elegant. Angie expected nothing less.

As she trudged up the stairs, dripping all the way, she silently apologized to whomever would have to clean it up. She finally reached Peggy's door on the 3rd floor and knocked meekly. She knew she looked completely bedraggled, but hopefully Peggy could help her out.

The door opened and there was Peggy, still a vision despite her casual skirt and blouse. "Oh, Angie," she cried. "You poor thing. Do come in." She pulled Angie in gently and took her coat and umbrella. "We must get you out of those wet clothes. Just a moment." Peggy disappeared down a hall and Angie took a moment to take in her surroundings. The good sized living area was bathed in warm lamplight, tastefully and comfortably appointed. She particularly liked the painting Peggy had over the fire place.

"Here, take this blanket," Peggy said, wrapping a soft brown material around Angie. "Come into the bathroom, it's just down the hall, and you'll see I've put some clothes there for you to change into. Quick, so you don't catch cold." Peggy led the way, motioning for Angie to go into the bathroom. "Get changed and I'll have a hot cup of tea for you when you're finished."

The skirt Peggy had picked out fit surprisingly well, though the blouse was obviously too big in the bosom. Folding the brown blanket and setting it on the sink, she made her way back out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

"I put in two sugars and a spot of milk. I hope that's alright?" Peggy asked, handing her a warm mug. "It's perfect," Angie said, accepting the steaming cup. "Have a seat," Peggy urged, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. "What happened? Did your umbrella break?" she asked.

Angie made a noise of annoyance. "No. Some jerk splashed me with his car and didn't even stop!" She took an angry sip of her tea and burned her tongue. "You poor dear," Peggy cooed, placing a warm hand on Angie's. "Oh your hands are so cold!" She took Angie's hands in hers and rubbed until they weren't so clammy. "Finish your tea," she commanded gently. Angie obeyed.

After she'd finished her tea, Peggy suggested they sit on the sofa and listen to a radio program. That sounded great to Angie, so she rose and headed to the living area. Peggy stopped her briefly and rubbed her arms and shoulders. "You're still just a little cold," she explained. Looking around, her eyes fell on another blanket on the couch. "Here, come have a seat." When Angie had sat, Peggy took the deep red blanket and wrapped it around Angie's shoulders and waist before tucking it in under her legs. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork. "You'll be snug as a bug in a rug."

They spent a leisurely evening playing dominoes, drinking tea that Peggy had fortified with whiskey, and listening to radio programs. During _The Shadow_ , a slightly scary program, Angie found herself gripping Peggy's arm unconsciously; Peggy laughed and let her. They were sitting rather closer than was completely necessary now, relaxed and chatting in the dim light--Peggy had insisted on setting the mood for _The Shadow._

Angie, finally warm, tried to get as close as she could to Peggy, who also seemed to have scooted closer to her. Eventually Angie tucked her legs under her and situated herself so she was facing Peggy, who had been facing forward but now turned to mirror Angie's posture. The lamp was on an end table, behind Peggy, and the light seemed to envelop her, basking her in a beautiful glow. Angie almost commented on how beautiful she looked, but caught herself in time.

Peggy was telling a story now, some anecdote about her work week, and Angie took the opportunity to maneuver even closer. She was now close enough that she could brush her fingers across Peggy's downy arm, or lay a hand on her thigh. But Angie summoned every ounce of restraint she could muster and kept her hands to herself--even when Peggy licked her lips slowly and seemingly deliberately after finishing each cup of tea; even when Peggy undid two buttons on her blouse, commenting about the heat. That was particularly excruciating, and Angie almost didn't make it. Peggy had been continuing her story, but when she caught Angie's eyes wandering to where the buttons had previously covered, she stopped and held Angie's gaze for a few very fraught moments, her lips quirked slightly into a smirk, her eyes dark.

Angie gulped and quickly reached for her cup, and Peggy had continued speaking as if nothing happened. Angie was grateful for that.

Once, Angie looked at her watch. It was 10:30; she should probably leave, but the combination of the blankets, the whiskey, and Peggy's hooded eyelids and mesmerizing red lips kept her ensconced on the sofa, drinking until she was drunk on Peggy's accent, her scent, her warmth, and her beauty.

Angie was slowly starting to lose track of Peggy's words, but when she felt Peggy's hand suddenly on her thigh, even the little she had been comprehending flew completely out of her head. Peggy moved it after only a second--she had only been emphasizing a point, after all--but Angie was completely lost. Her thigh burned where Peggy had touched her, and she was thinking irrationally now. _I can't be imagining this, right? I wonder if she's ever kissed a girl before. I wonder if she wants to kiss me._

Despite the slight fog in her mind, she heard Isabel and Deborah's warnings in her head. She needed to put a stop to this, and made up her mind to go. Sighing, she said finally, "Well, English. I'm gonna head out. Don't get up. Thanks for the tea and warm clothes. I'll have them cleaned for next time I see ya." She got up to go, and leaned down to peck Peggy's cheek, a distressing and very trying custom they'd developed over the past few weeks.

Angie did love Peggy's cheeks, though she'd only had milliseconds of contact with them at a time. But just as she was set to make contact with the cheek, Peggy had turned her face to Angie, saying, "Oh, alright, Angie," and for a brief eternity, lips met lips.

Well, more accurately, lips met side of mouth; and had someone been watching with a timer, they would barely have reached one second, but it was still a dreadful miscalculation, and Angie jumped away from the couch as if Peggy had burned her.

"Shit! Shit, Peggy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean," she stuttered, casting about for her shoes and purse. She grabbed her coat from the rack and made for the door. Peggy stood up quickly and walked towards the door. "Angie, wait, it's not--"

But Angie heard no more, as she all but ran out of the apartment, not daring to look behind her.

 

Angie took a cab home, wanting to get there as soon as possible and bury herself in her bed covers. When Deborah got in late that night, Angie crawled into bed with her, retelling the evening's events through sniffles of self-doubt. When she arrived at the accidental kiss, Deborah had laughed heartily.

"You sure it was an accident?" she ribbed. "You've been pining for her constantly for the past 3 weeks. You think your heart took control of your mind? Maybe your body acted on its own?" Angie stuttered indignantly. "Wha--no--I have full control of my body!" she protested.

"I'm joking with you, honey," Deborah said finally, after having a couple good laughs. "I bet it wasn't even that big a deal. What did she say after?" Angie hid her face in Deborah's shoulder. "Mmmmph mmmmph."

"Girl, I can't understand you. What'd you say?"

"I said I didn't stick around to find out," Angie repeated. "I flew outta there like a bat outta hell." Deborah laughed and laughed some more.

"I'm glad you're so amused by what is quite possibly the end of my relationship with Peggy," Angie said, slightly miffed. "Oh, shush. If she's anywhere near as keen on you as you think she is, everything will be fine."

Angie was grateful the next day was Sunday. She didn't want to run into Peggy or risk her performance in a game with anxious thoughts. She was subdued at family dinner that afternoon, but if anyone noticed they didn't bring it up.

She just didn't know what to do. Probably Deborah was right, and she was making a big deal out of nothing. Peggy had definitely been giving her signals, and there had been whiskey involved. Maybe Peggy wasn't completely queer, but she hadn't reared back in disgust or chased Angie with a broom. Wasn't that a good sign?

Maybe they should just talk about it. _But how do I even bring it up? Oh, hey, English, remember that time I accidentally kissed you on the mouth? Yeah, it was an accident. But did you like it?_ Angie snorted with derision. _Fat chance._

She decided to do nothing, for now. She'd wait and see if Peggy came to the game tomorrow and then see how things went from there.

  
The diamond was mostly dry by Tuesday's makeup game, though Angie was grateful for her cleats as she squelched across the grass. Warmups went well, and Angie knew that she'd win when Peggy arrived in the stands. That is, if she came. They hadn't spoken or seen each other since the ill-fated events of Saturday night, but Peggy knew the makeup game was tonight.

Angie knew Peggy worked late on Mondays and Tuesday, so she wasn't surprised when Peggy wasn't in the stands in the first inning. Angie said a few Hail Marys and started the game.

But the Asters were playing the Springfield Sounders, a team with a strong batting lineup that kept getting stronger, and they all seemed ready for Angie, hitting her pitches with ease.

When she looked out into the stands in the bottom of the seventh inning and didn't hear the familiar cheering, she felt her confidence begin to wane. That was all it took--she continued to do her best, but after one too many walks, Springfield took the lead and kept it.

Dismay seeped in after the last pitch and she couldn't look her teammates in the eyes, even the ones who said she'd done well. Coach Branch had patted her on the back but Angie knew she was disappointed.

"It's just one game," Deborah said when she got home that night. "Surely you'll do better next time."

But she didn't. When Peggy didn't show up for Thursday's game, or Friday's either, Angie got scared. She managed to pull herself together with a tied game on Thursday and a 1-run, squeaker of a win on Friday, but she felt herself start to spiral. Peggy hadn't called, and her phone only rang and rang when Angie tried the number.

Had she scared Peggy off? Had she been wrong about the whole thing? Had she truly ruined things? This was not an advantageous weekend for Deborah to be staying at her mother's. Angie tried to distract herself Saturday morning with books and playing records and even cleaning the bathroom. Anything to keep her mind off of Peggy Carter, but almost to no avail.

Almost. Saturday's game was another very close one, but the Asters' batting was particularly strong this week, and they won, though Angie could claim no real credit. Her pitching had been average at best. She made her way home that evening as quickly as possible, ducking teammates and fans as much as possible. When she got back to the apartment, she immediately undressed, put on her pajamas, and poured herself a mug of her emergency schnapps. Her last thought before falling asleep was of Deborah. She wished she were here.

The next day, she called her mother and told her she wouldn't be there for dinner. She couldn't deal with a crowd of people today. Though perhaps she'd go to her sister's house later and say hi to the baby.

Angie spent most of the day on the couch, reading and listening to the radio. She thought, for what must have been the 500th time that week, _Where is Peggy?_   Sighing, she wondered how had she let herself become so dependent on this woman so quickly. That never happened before.  _Except with Deborah_ , she thought with a rueful smile. She'd come to rely on her almost instantly.

Around 9:00pm, the phone rang and Angie felt a rush of relief. It was Deborah, and not a moment too soon; she needed some comfort and reassurance.

"Oh Deborah, I'm so happy you called--"

"Angie?"

But this wasn't Deborah. Those were clipped, English tones. Peggy.

Angie's heart started beating wildly. "Peggy?" Angie tried to steady her voice. "Yes, it's me. Oh, Angie, I'm so happy and relieved to hear your voice. I've been trying to call you for days. I'm so sorry I missed your games this week. How did they go?"

"Um, lost on Tuesday. Tied on Thursday, and just managed to win on Friday and yesterday." _Where were you?_   She wanted to add, but held her tongue.

"I see. I'm sorry." Peggy let out a breath. "Er, listen, Angie. Perhaps I might stop by yours tonight? I know it's late," she rushed on, "And I won't stay long, I give you my word. But I--I haven't seen you in a week, and every time I've tried to call you you've been out, and last we saw each other, things were so...weird." She drifted off. "I'd really like to see you," she said finally.

Angie's heart was doing a St. Vitus' dance in her chest. "Yes, of course, it's fine. You can come whenever you want. My roommate is gone for the weekend and I don't have any plans."

"I'm on my way," Peggy promised.

As soon as she hung up the phone, Angie dashed to her room and threw a bathrobe over her nightgown, brushed her teeth, and smoothed her hair. Maybe it was okay that Deborah was out of town, after all.

 

Peggy arrived at Angie's in record time; she made sure to tip the cabbie a bit more than she usually would. She walked up to Angie's building, a tall, stone affair. Peggy was excited to climb the five flights of stairs; It had been awhile since she'd a lot of stairs to climb; she needed to time herself and make sure she wasn't getting soft.

Oh, and of course she was happy to see Angie, as well.

She reached Angie's floor in just over three minutes, and she was not pleased. _You can do better than this, Carter,_ she scolded herself. She would have to up her exercise regimen.

Peggy located Angie's door, 5B, which was right across from where she stood now. And then she got nervous.

Margaret Carter did not get nervous. Not when confronting powerful men, not when defending herself against attackers, not when fighting wars. Not even around handsome men. They never knew how to handle her, anyway; some didn't even know how to talk to her.

No. All of that, she could handle with her hands tied behind her back.

But if Peggy Carter was being honest, there was one group of people around whom she could occasionally be nervous: pretty girls. She had been unable to communicate with Claire Lorraine outside of authoritative commands for weeks; precious Colleen had rendered her tongue-tied on more than one occasion. And now there was Angie Martinelli, fitting quite neatly into the category: blonde, blue eyed, attractive, chatty blonde, and with a smile that made Peggy's heart flutter. Peggy had practically been a blushing school girl when they'd met in the alley outside the automat.

Despite this, however, Peggy was shocked to find that she'd never become so comfortable with someone as quickly as she had Angie. From their first meeting, Angie had made her feel calm; she was kind, caring, and compassionate; gentle, humble, yet confident and passionate.

Peggy supposed she might have fallen, ever so slightly, for Angie from day one.

Peggy thought Angie seemed to be quite keen on her, as well. Peggy had a talent for reading people, could always tell when someone was into her; you didn't have a body like hers and not learn to recognize the signs of attraction. And even though her own beauty truly disinterested her--she'd simply accepted it as a fact of life and moved on--she had learned to use it to her advantage, both in business and personal pursuits.

And so she'd attempted to subtly pursue Angie, but it had admittedly been a puzzle, at first. Peggy felt her own flirting had been subtle but recognizable, but what she didn't know was if Angie was reciprocating or simply being friendly. That is, until the night at the batting cage. Peggy had seen it in Angie's eyes that whole night, and it had thrilled her.

What stumped her, however, was why Angie was ignoring her hints. Most notably, on the night she came over to Peggy's. Peggy thought she had been quite clear in her desire, especially as the evening progressed. She'd gotten as physically close to Angie as she possibly could; she let her hair down and unbuttoned her shirt so far her grandmother would have turned over in her grave. She'd touched Angie as much as she'd dared, a hand on her thigh, rubbing her arms, wiping imaginary tea from her chin.

Not to mention she'd let loose the trademark Carter gaze, which customarily worked like a charm, on men and women alike. All of her past beaux had proven to be putty in her hands after mere seconds of the Carter gaze. Yet Angie remained unmoved, nay, actively retreated from it.

She knew Angie liked her. So what might the problem be?

It didn't help that the SSR had called an emergency meeting in St. Louis, having heard rumors that SSR-affiliated labs across the country were being broken into and raided. She'd had to leave with no warning, and she'd been unable to reach Angie.

Hopefully Angie wasn't too upset with her.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to 5B and knocked. The door opened almost immediately, and there stood Angie, looking subdued. _Oh, no._   She soldiered on.

"Hi, Angie," she said with a small smile.

"Hey, Peggy." Angie felt her pulse in her ears and tried not to fidget. Peggy shuffled her feet. "Can I come in?"

Angie stepped aside and let Peggy in, closing the door behind her. There was a pause, then they both spoke at once.

"I'm so sorry about the other night--"

"I hope you're not upset with me, Angie--"

They both laughed a little. "You go first, English." Peggy twisted the straps of her purse, forcing herself to keep her words measured. "Angie, I'm so sorry I haven't been around. As it turned out, I got called to St. Louis on business quite unexpectedly, and I didn't have much time, well any, really, to prepare. I tried to call you a few times this week, but you were never home." She looked down at the floor. "And then I thought you might be avoiding me." _Chin up, Carter!_

Angie shuffled her feet. "I have been," she confessed. Peggy felt her stomach drop but forced herself to stay calm. Hopefully Angie would explain further.

"I was, am, really embarrassed about--well, what happened when I was at your place. And I thought you might be mad and not wanna see me again or something. And then you weren't at any of the games and I was afraid I had scared you off," she said, her words pouring out like a rush of water. "It really was an accident," she ended, softly. She looked for all the world like a little girl who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, and Peggy wanted to hug her for hours. But she constrained herself to a simple smile.

"Angie, you had no need to worry. I'm not upset. If you have simply stayed I would have told you as much. It's completely fine." Angie looked up. "But I--kissed you," she stuttered. "On the mouth." Peggy laughed out loud. As if that were the worst possible thing that could ever happen! As if Peggy hadn't been thinking about it for weeks...

"Oh, for pete's sake, Angie, it was just a kiss. And it was only _technically_ a kiss, just barely a kiss, as our lips didn't really touch." Somehow they caught each other's eyes and Peggy coughed slightly. "It's not like you tried to poison me. Alright?" Peggy continued, proud of her objective and pragmatic tone. Angie looked slightly unsure, but nodded. Peggy again considered hugging her, but decided to wait.

"Good! Now let's have no more of this nonsense, alright? No need to make a mountain out of a molehill." Angie giggled. "What is a molehill? I've never in my life seen one." Peggy thought, but realized she'd never seen one either.

"I...have no idea," she confessed. "It's just...something that people say, I suppose. But I have seen moles before. In the countryside, near my uncle's farm in England. Did you know they don't have eyes?" Angie stared in disbelief. "But how do they get around?"

"They find their way with their very keen senses of smell and hearing. They stay mostly underground where it's dark, so they don't really need eyesight." Angie looked thoughtful. "I guess that does make sense." There was a pause, and Angie finally smiled at her. It was like the sun appearing after the rain, and it made everything better.

"Let's do something Wednesday, on your day off," she suggested. "I have a late meeting, but perhaps you could come over to mine after dinner?" Angie brightened. "That would be great." Then she paused, a look of concern on her face.

"You're sure you're alright being alone with me?" Angie asked, with some trepidation. For exactly 1.5 seconds, Peggy considered telling her, _There's nothing I want more than to be alone with you,_ but never in a million years would she ever. Subtlety was the name of the game.

"Of course, Angie, don't be ridiculous. Molehills aren't mountains, remember?" Angie laughed, and Peggy thought idly, as she had on occasion, about testing her scientific hypothesis that Angie's smile could make flowers grow.

"Well, I should go and let you get to bed," she said. "But I'll see you Wednesday, alright?" She waited a beat, and then she leaned forward and kissed Angie's cheek lightly. Peggy stepped back and saw Angie's eyes drift and her lips purse slightly. A good sign.

"Good night, Angie."

On the way back down the stairs, Peggy decided that Wednesday would be the day she took definitively took action with this Angie situation.

She would do the one thing she knew how: escalate her tactics. She would turn the charm up as high as it would go, and she would pull out all the stops. It would be an offensive onslaught and Angie would have to surrender.

 _Love isn't war, Carter,_ she reminded herself. Her heart skipped a beat. Where had that word come from? This wasn't love. Certainly not.

 

Monday and Tuesday seemed to drag on and on; Angie suffered through practice and team meetings, spending all her free time telling Deborah, Esther, and Isabel about Peggy's Sunday night visit.

But when Wednesday evening came, Angie was nervous. No matter how much Esther or Deborah had tried to reassure her, she somehow could not quite convince herself of Peggy's romantic interest in her. But she did know one thing: the tension between them was exhausting, and she was tired of embarrassing herself; it could only get worse from here. She was ready to go for broke.

Peggy didn't seem the type who would turn on her out of disgust; Angie liked to think that they were friends now. So tonight, she was going to go for it. Angie did wish she had the home field advantage, but Peggy did have the slight upper hand in that she didn't have a roommate.

Climbing the stairs to Peggy's third floor apartment, psyching herself up, Angie planned her game strategy. Whatever it took, she would not leave this place until she knew where Peggy stood. This was not a game Angie was prepared to lose.

She caught herself. _Love is not a game, Martinelli. Wait. Did I say love?_

  
As soon as Peggy opened the door, Angie sensed that something was different. After welcoming her inside and closing the door, Peggy pulled Angie into a hug, her arms encircling Angie completely, holding her flush against her. Angie experienced a whirlwind of sensations: the feeling of Peggy's breasts against hers, how Peggy's neck always smelled of cinnamon and perfume, how the muscles in Peggy's back rippled slightly as she moved her arms.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Angie," Peggy said, finally releasing Angie from her grasp. "You look lovely."

Oh. That was new.

"Thanks, English. It's, uh, good to see you, too." Peggy smiled. "Would you like something to drink?" Angie followed her into the kitchen, taking a few seconds to stare at Peggy's backside while there was less chance she'd be caught. Angie wondered if Peggy knew how much Angie liked this skirt on her. It was...very flattering. Oh, and was that blouse new? Angie didn't recognize it.

"Do you like my new blouse, Angie? I just bought it yesterday," Peggy was saying, pouring tea into cups. The blouse was a sheer, short sleeved, peach-colored affair, and Angie did indeed like it. "Feel how soft this fabric is," Peggy commanded. Angie tried to think of a neutral area she could actually reach. She decided on the shoulder. "Yes, it's very soft," she agreed. Peggy put two sugars and some milk in Angie's cup, smiling. They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the beverage.

Tea eventually led to conversation, which led to the couch, which led to listening to the radio. They huddled together during _The Shadow_ , but this wasn't flirting on Angie's part.

After the radio, they sat in silence, until Peggy said, "Let's have some music, shall we?" She got up and walked over to her record player, leaning over to the bookshelf that housed her records. When she found one she was satisfied with, she slipped it out of the sleeve and placed it on the turntable.

Angie was watching these proceedings from the couch, a flutter in her chest. Again, Peggy had only the dim lamp on, the one that bathed her in the ethereal glow. Angie wondering if Peggy knew she had mood lighting.

Finally, Peggy turned around, smiling invitingly, lips red and eyes aglow. Angie felt a rush in her chest and words came unbidden from her mouth.

"You are so beautiful, Peggy," she breathed. "You have to know that, don't you?" Peggy walked over to her, still smiling. "Shall we dance?" she asked, holding out her hand. "I'm not much of a dancer," Angie protested weakly. "Just follow my lead," Peggy returned, pulling her up.

She landed rather suddenly in Peggy's arms. "Hi," she said stupidly, blinded by Peggy's eyelashes. "Hi," Peggy returned. "Now, put your left hand on my waist," she instructing, taking Angie's other hand into her own. Peggy put her other hand on the small of Angie's back. "Just copy my steps."

Angie gradually became comfortable and was able to stop staring at her feet, and the dancing went on for sometime. Eventually, the songs got slower and slower; when Someone to Watch Over Me came on, both of Peggy's hands had moved to Angie's waist. Angie didn't know what to do with hers, so she did what felt natural, which was to drape them loosely around Peggy's neck, though it made her feel shy and a bit self-conscious. This was the longest consecutive amount of time she had been this physically close to Peggy, and it was beginning to have an affect. Not to mention Peggy wouldn't stop gazing into her eyes, which was scrambling Angie's brain. So to avoid embarrassing herself, she moved her arms to Peggy's waist, laid her head on Peggy's shoulder, and sighed deeply yet quietly.

"What's on your mind?" Peggy asked softly, into Angie's hair. Angie didn't answer.

"It's alright, Angie. You can say it," she encouraged, rubbing a hand across Angie's lower back. Angie toyed with the idea of declaring an undying love, but the idea struck her as so ridiculously ludicrous she laughed silently to herself.

"Something amusing you?"

Angie smiled. "No." Peggy poked her slightly in the ribs, and Angie, the most ticklish person on God's green earth, giggled. Peggy drew back, a delighted look on her face. "Are you ticklish, Angie?" she inquired, tickling her intentionally now. Laughing and squealing, Angie ran for the couch, trying to deflect Peggy by pelting her with couch cushions.

Peggy laughed and finally gave up, sinking into the couch, only a hair's breadth from Angie. After a moment, she began stroking the back of Angie's hand with her index finger, looking over at her. "Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about earlier?"

Angie was silent for a long moment, but her strategy was ready. It was now or never.

She turned to face Peggy, who was looking at her under hooded eyelids. _Dear God, in case I hadn't made it clear, you did excellent work with this woman. Perhaps your best. Peggy Carter is absolutely, positively gorgeous._

"Can I ask you something?" Angie finally asked. "It's something rather...sensitive." Peggy raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Anything." Angie took a breath. _Here we go._ Her palms were sweaty and she wiped them on the cushion she held in her lap.

"Hm, so, you know that thing, uh, kissing?" If Peggy was caught off-guard by this, she didn't show it. "Of course, Angie. I am a human woman," she said with a laugh. Angie fidgeted and tried to laugh as well. "Yeah? Oh, good. Yes. Good." She cleared her throat. "I'm sure you've kissed some pretty handsome fellas in your life, hey, English?"

_Why can't you just come out with it!!!_

"Why, yes, I suppose I have," Peggy answered, with an amused air. "Though I'm sure you have, as well." Angie flashed back to her most recent male kiss. It was tenth grade and Gordon Lornwell's slobbery embrace. She always suspected that kissing Gordon was how it felt to kiss a dog, and she made a face before she could stop herself. "Well, maybe they weren't all handsome." Peggy laughed. "Neither were mine, now that I think about it."

Angie squeezed the cushion in her lap, willing her palms to stop sweating. As always, they ignored her.

She coughed. "Did you know, Peggy, that there are some people who...er, for instance, were you aware that some men like to...kiss other men? And that some women, uh. Women like to kiss other women? I'm just making conversation," she explained. God, this was agony.

Peggy looked as if she might laugh again, but didn't. "Yes, Angie, believe it or not, I am indeed aware. Again, I am a human woman." She leaned in conspiratorially. "I also read the Kinsey report, you know." Angie's mouth fell open. "You did?" Peggy looked like the cat who ate the canary. "As soon as it came out, in fact. Though I was monumentally disappointed they didn't do a corresponding report for women." Angie tried to process this information as Peggy drank the last sip of her whiskey-tea. "I personally predict that women will be a lot harder to pin down on the Kinsey scale, however. Many women I know have had sexual experiences with both men and women, much more than men I know." Angie was staring now, unable to believe her ears.

"I'm sure you've found that to be the case with many of the people you know," Peggy said, rather cheekily, if Angie was being honest. Angie cleared her throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. This was not going according to her gameplan. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey, poured some directly into her mug, and drank it all down. Peggy seemed pleased.

"Do go on. I'm so enjoying this line of... _conversation_ ," she said, looking Angie directly in the eyes for a moment. Angie squeezed her lap cushion for strength.

"I have another...personal question, Peggy. It's controversial. Please don't get mad. And if the answer is no, promise we you won't...make it into a big issue? Promise that we'll just...move on?" Peggy looked positively wicked. "I promise. And I _live_ for controversy. What's the question?"

Angie felt her heart thudding loudly; she hoped Peggy couldn't hear it.

"Have--have you ever--personally, kissed, really kissed--a...girl? Or woman? In your life?" she asked haltingly, trying but probably failing to keep her voice casual and dispassionate. She opened her eyes and noticed that Peggy looked as if she'd been expecting, maybe even hoping for, the question.

"Of course I have. On numerous occasions," she said, matter-of-factly, her left hand resting lightly on Angie's arm. She paused and looked at Angie. "Have you?"

Angie's heart was booming now, like the Chinese gong her Uncle Frankie had in his apartment, and Angie was sure Peggy could hear it. But there was nothing she could do about it now. She closed her eyes for a moment before answering.

"Yes. Also...numerous times." Peggy seemed pleased, her hand changing course and coming to rest on Angie's thigh with a slight squeeze. Angie tried not to shudder, but without success.

"We seem to have that in common," Angie said, slowly. A smile played on Peggy's lips. "Seems so."

Angie was unsure of how to proceed. Should she just stop now, while she was ahead?

"Was there, perhaps, something further?" Peggy pressed, not looking at her, hand slowly inching up Angie's thigh.

"Oh, no, not really, that's--"

"Angie."

Angie mentally crossed herself and decided to continue. What was the harm in asking? Nothing had to happen.

"Peggy."

"Yes, Angie."

Angie swallowed hard. "We're--not... _just friends_ , are we?"

There was a second of silence as Peggy slowly looked up, all dark eyelashes and hooded desire. Angie shivered.

"No. Not by a long shot." Angie felt as if she'd been shot from a cannon as she watched Peggy draw her legs up under her and prop her right arm on the back of the couch. She leaned the side of her head onto her fist, staring at Angie with the full heat of her gaze, expectantly.

Angie took a moment to take stock of the conversation so far. It seemed promising; she was now about 75% sure that Peggy might be into her, but now her doubts took another turn. What if she wasn't good enough for Peggy? Surely Peggy was worldly and experienced. What if Angie's kisses were a let down or left her disappointed? She was slightly afraid. Maybe should just stop now.

Peggy, however, was developing an almost disturbing talent for reading her mind. "Angie," she said quietly, with a smile, "You don't have to be afraid to ask me...that other question you have. I know you want to." Angie looked at her hands, trying to gather her courage and make up her mind. Peggy reached forward and gently took the cushion from Angie's lap and placed it on the floor.

"If it helps," Peggy said, brushing a nonexistent lock of hair from Angie's face and briefly caressing her cheek, "my answer is a very emphatic yes."

And finally, it was enough. Angie leaned forward, taking Peggy's face in both her hands and capturing her lips with her own. The sound that Peggy made when their lips connected sent a resonating thrill through Angie's entire body. Peggy's lips were even softer and delicious than they looked, and Angie was instantly addicted. Logical thought was slowly breaking down, but she had a faint feeling that the nectar of the Olympian gods couldn't possibly by any better than the honey of Peggy's lips.

Peggy was insistently swiping her tongue across Angie's lips, by turns begging and demanding to be let in; when Angie acquiesced, Peggy whispered, "Don't run away this time," into her mouth, cupping Angie's face with one hand and moving the other down to to grab her waist.

Angie was feeling everything at once; her heartbeat, her eyes blinking, her pulse; the heat generated by Peggy's hands. She knew there was much more, so much more to explore, but Peggy's lips and tongue were so enchanting in themselves Angie couldn't bear to part with them yet.

Eventually though, they needed air, and Peggy let go of Angie's lips with a nip, shifting her focus to Angie's neck, where she alternately bit, sucked, and licked her way down Angie's jaw to her collarbone. Angie briefly felt as if she might combust, but channeled that energy into surreptitiously grabbing Peggy's backside. It was everything she thought it would be and more!

But Peggy, it would seem, couldn't bear to be apart from Angie's lips for too long, and soon she was back, dipping her tongue into Angie's mouth, sucking on her bottom lip. Angie was tired of Peggy dictating things however; she separated their lips with an audible smack and dipped her head down to access the pulse point on Peggy's neck. She placed hot, openmouthed kisses down Peggy's neck to her shoulder and was rewarded with a husky moan and Peggy's hand at the base of her neck, pulling Angie closer.

It was only when three of the final four buttons suddenly popped open on Peggy's blouse that Angie pulled away, smiling sheepishly. "I think I may have gotten carried away," she said, redoing the buttons and ignoring her fingers' itching to touch what was before them. Peggy looked smug. "I'll say," she said, smoothing her hair, rather haughtily, Angie thought. She raised an eyebrow. _Oh, is that how it is?_  

She slid her hand down until it was cupping Peggy's backside, and leaned forward, taking Peggy's earlobe into her mouth. "Are you saying you didn't enjoy it, Miss Carter?" she asked, pleased at her voice's low silkiness.

"N-no, that's--that's not what....I'm s-saying at all," Peggy whispered, almost breathless, and Angie bit down on her earlobe gently before kissing a path back to her lips, where she pressed a final kiss.

"I didn't think so." Peggy blinked and fumbled with her buttons. "I should probably go," Angie said with a wink, reaching out to help with the buttons before standing up and adjusting her own clothes. "That was amazing," she said.

Peggy stood up, too. "That was nothing," Peggy said in a tone that was somehow simultaneously casual, matter-of-fact, hungry, and dangerous. Angie gulped. "Guess we'll have to do it again sometime," she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Peggy smiled. "Indeed. Though, I must say, it sure took you long enough to finally kiss me," she teased. "I wasn't sure you ever would, no matter how many hints I inelegantly dropped." She looked playful. "I thought I was going to have to come up with some pretense for pinning you against a wall or some such thing."

Angie almost choked on her own saliva but recovered. "Don't take that off your list," she said, walking past Peggy and stepping into the shoes she'd left by the door. For a split second, it seemed Peggy was considering going through with that request right then, but she noticeably found her composure and simply smiled. "I'll be sure to make a note."

Angie smiled too and walked towards the door, followed by Peggy. Angie picked up her purse and turned to face her. "I had been wanting to do that a long time. I'm glad I wasn't...reading into things." Peggy gently took Angie's face into her hands and kissed her again. "Good night, Angie," she whispered.

"Good night, English."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay...it feels kind of fast, i know, but here's the thing: I am not trying to write a book lol and this is already going to be MUCH longer than I originally planned! There's still so much more plot and i needed to move things along! That being said, i do hope it doesn't feel rushed.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> -so...i'm not great at writing romance or things of that nature. I'M SORRY!!  
> -ALSO i hope it doesn't seem like i'm implying that kissing all men is like kissing dogs! i'm sure that it not the case!!  
> -the kinsey reports were published in 1948, the same year as this story. i feel like peggy would have read it. the female report was published in 1953  
> -I have tried to make my cast diverse, but just so you know...I am only one small black woman. I cannot hope to write all races equally and perfectly. I just stick to trying to make my characters interesting.  
> -The Shadow was a real-life radio drama that ran from 1930-1954 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Shadow#Radio_drama) and was immensely popular. It was my dad's favorite :)  
> -A quick word about angie's bronzeville/towertown preference: my vision of angie in this universe is someone who realizes that she benefits from society in ways her poc friends don't, and who seeks out different kinds of people to learn more about them and to enrich her own life experience. there's nothing particularly "wrong" with towertown consisting of mainly white lgbt people (which seems historically to be the case) but it just doesn't fit my idea of what my angie would prefer.  
> -my outline gives me 5 more chapters of this, which isn't very much for what i'd hoped to accomplish. apologies if the quality of writing starts to ebb from this point 
> 
> as always, thank you SO MUCH for reading and for your comments, they mean to much! please keep them coming, or leave me a message on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 8--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little angst, a little fluff.

Angie decided to visit her family early that Sunday, to make up for her absence last week. It was a beautiful late morning, after all, and they weren't expecting her so early; she could take her time.

She never got tired of entering her childhood home (though she was always happy to leave it); the atmosphere there could never be duplicated. There were always people coming and going, children streaming through the hallways, adults laughing and arguing in the kitchen, which nearly always smelled of oregano.

Angie often wondered how their relatively small house could hold so many people and she'd never actually figured out. She supposed, though, that love made a way, " _amore trova il modo_ ," as her mother always said.

That had indeed proven true, again and again, with Angie's family. With a clan as large and tight-knit as the Parisi/Martinelli's, arguments, misunderstandings, and hurt feelings were inescapable, and there had indeed been some serious disagreements in the past. But the family believed in forgiving and forgetting.

As she made her way through the streets of downtown, she wished, not for the first time, she could be completely open with her family. There was nothing she would have loved more than to whisper to her _nonna_ that the mysterious lady had now become something more than a friend; she wished she could tell her sister Sara about Peggy's perfume and movie star legs.

Her mother had loved to tease them about their crushes, no matter how young or old they'd been, and Angie wished desperately she could tell her mother what she'd felt when she'd kissed Peggy, how she'd immediately known, known, that Peggy was different, special, right, true. Meant to be.

 _Ah, don't get ahead of yourself,_ she scolded, kicking a pebble as she walked. _It was one kiss._

No, she wouldn't be able to tell her family about Peggy. She settled instead for quietly letting herself into the house, sneaking into the kitchen where her mother was making breakfast for Angie's dad and little brother, and sweeping her up from behind, placing kisses in her greying hair.

"Angini!" her mother cried, when Angie had set her back on the floor. She grabbed her face and kissed her cheeks. "Amore mio, my love, you're just in time for breakfast. You feeling better?" Angie smiled fondly. "Yes, ma." She grabbed another plate from the cabinet and set it on the table for herself.

"How're you, mama?" Angie asked. "How am I? How I always am," her mother answered, winking at her. But Angie could see a tiredness in the crinkles of her eyes. "You sure? You're getting enough sleep?" Her mother turned back to the stove. "Si, Angini, I am fine. You worry too much. Go call your father and Donnie, yes?"

Angie obediently left the kitchen and went upstairs. She knocked on Donnie's door and waited a beat before entering, having learned that lesson the hard way. He sat on his bead, fully dressed but snoozing, head on his chest. Angie walked over and patted the top of his head, fondly. "Donnie," she said softly. "Time for breakfast."

He jerked awake, with a cough and an eye rub. "Angie," he said, voice coated with the confusion of grogginess. "Don't tell dad I was still asleep."

"I won't, but you have to let me hug you," she told him. He made a face but acquiesced with a sigh. "When'd you get here?" he grumbled into her shoulder. "Just now." She held him briefly, taking a second to enjoy the embrace. He hadn't willingly hugged her (or anyone except their mother) in years.

"Alright, come down, food's ready," she said with a final squeeze of his arm, and went to find her father. She heard him whistling in the bathroom, as he always did when shaving. She knocked lightly.

" _Entrare_!" he boomed, and Angie entered with a smile. "Hi, dad." Looking up with a smile, her father looked in the mirror and leaned over to kiss her cheek, tickling her cheek with his moustache, of which he was enormously proud. "Angela. What a surprise! Joining us for breakfast?" She nodded. "I thought I'd help ma out around the house a bit too. Is she okay, dad? She seems tired."

He leaned over the sink and rinsed. "Well, you know your mother, she always works too hard. But surely she's fine. Did you ask her?" Angie shrugged. "I did. She said she's fine, but..." she trailed off with a shrug. "Oh, and ma says breakfast is ready, and to come down." She left the bathroom and headed back down the creaky stairs.

At the table, the family dug into the spread of eggs, sausage, and toast with abandon. "How's the baseball?" her mother asked. "Still winning games?" Angie reached for the jam. "Yes, it's going well. We got rained out about a week ago--"

"Why do you always do that with your toast?" interrupted Donnie. "Do what?" Angie asked, though she knew full well what he was referring to. "Slide your toast up and down the knife, instead of sliding the knife across your toast, like normal people." Angie grinned. "Oh, you mean this?" she said, leaning over and performing her toast ritual directly in his face, crumbs falling into his plate. "Ugh, stop!" he cried, elbowing her, as she leaned even closer, laughing.

"Angie, leave your brother alone," came her mother's soft admonishment. Angie laughed and returned to her story. "We got rained out, and then we had a bit of a losing streak. But we rallied our last couple of games." She turned to Donnie. "Hey, did you ever fix that record player you found?" He nodded, mouth full of food. "Yeah. Took me 'bout a week but I got it. Gonna take it to the pawn shop and sell it for some pocket cash for next weekend."

Their mother looked interested. "Oh, what's happening next weekend, Donnini?" He rolled his eyes at the nickname but smiled goodnaturedly. "Cindy Abelli finally agreed to go to the movies with me!" he said, spraying toast crumbs in every direction. Angie brushed crumbs off of her arm in mock irritation but smiled. "Good for you, kid."

After breakfast, Angie insisted her mother have tea and sit in the easy chair in the living room, while Angie busied herself readying the house for family dinner that evening.

As she cleaned, she couldn't help but think of Peggy, imagining her in the living room with her, in the dining room with the family, eating her mother's pasta, or upstairs, in Angie's childhood bedroom.

Her chest hurt.

 

 

"Angini, when will you bring home a handsome man for us to meet?" The family had gathered for dinner, and Aunt Elena was asking the question Angie hated most of all. It had been a few weeks since the last time she'd asked, so Angie figured she was due.

 _When I find myself attracted to a man, I will bring him right here,_ she promised internally. "Si, Angie, your sisters and all your cousins are married now. You're the odd one out," Rachel piped up. In more ways than one, she thought, followed by an unfortunately audible chuckle. "What's funny? Why do you laugh? You are 27 years old, Angie, three years from 30, and still unmarried! We have to wonder what you're waiting for!" Elena demanded.

 _For society to decide that who I am is not a crime._ Before she could speak, Rachel walked over and prodded her shoulder. "You do like men, don't you, Angie? You like boys?"

Angie felt her stomach drop to her feet and her breath grow short, the back of her neck on fire. This had never been asked before, not seriously. She didn't dare answer honestly, but should she even answer at all?

"I--yes--"

"Rachel, don't you dare speak like that in my house," Angie's mother said, face white, hands clenched. "You leave my Angie alone, you hear me?" Rachel raised her hands in mock surrender. "It was just a joke, _mio dio_ ," she said, retreating back to her place at the table. Angie's mother walked over and took Angie's hands in her own. "Angie will find a man when she is ready, not a moment before. Not everyone has to rush into marriage to save their honor." Rachel stood up so quickly and with such force she nearly knocked over her chair.

"How dare you bring that up in front of the whole family--"

Angie's mother whirled around, face pale. "How dare you accuse my daughter of such filth in front of the whole family!" Everyone began talking at once, and Angie desperately wished the earth would somehow open up under her feet and swallow her. She hated everything about this. This was her fault, and either way she was screwed.

"Ma, ma," she said gently, "it's alright, ma. She wasn't being serious." Elena hurriedly came over and tried to placate the sisters. "Yes, Gabriella, Rachel was joking, but Rachel, you should probably apologize."

"Only if she does," Rachel said, still shaking. "Ma, c'mon," Angie cajoled. There was a stone silence as the two sisters stared past each other, refusing to speak. The air felt like knives.

Finally, Angie's mother waved a hand. "Fine. Rachel, I apologize." Rachel's face softened as well. "I'm sorry, too." She grabbed her sister's face and they exchanged air kisses. "But if you ever say that nasty thing about my daughter again..." Rachel rolled her eyes. " _Si_ , alright, it was a joke, Gabriella. But I promise I won't say it again."

Angie's mother looked satisfied. " _Bene_. Now let's have dessert." Lucia got up and went to the kitchen, and Angie followed. When Angie was sure they were out of earshot, she laid her head on Lucia's shoulder and sighed deeply. Lucia kissed the top of her head.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Angie shook her head. "That was awful. Did you hear my ma?" Lucia wrapped her arms around her, and Angie exhaled shakily against her chest. "Did you see how angry she was? Did you see her face?" Lucia held her tightly. "I'm sorry, Angini. But you know I can't change how Gabriella feels."

Angie's shoulders shook with the effort of control. This was hardly new; why was it affecting her so deeply today?

"I can never tell them, _zia_. Who I am. And I just wish I could, you know? I wish I could tell them why I don't bring guys home, and it be alright. And have them understand." She dragged a foot on the floor, staring out of the window over the sink. "I wish I could tell them when I meet someone."

"I know, _amore mio_. Maybe one day that day will come." Angie sighed a sigh that seemed to come from deep within her bones. "Maybe." But the word left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Lucia looked at her curiously. She walked over and retrieved the pies from the oven. Lowering her voice, she asked, "Have you met anyone recently?" she raised an eyebrow. "It's been awhile now, hasn't it?" Angie reached into a drawer for a knife to slice the pies. "I actually have," she admitted, smiling despite the conversation. Lucia's crinkly brown eyes widened in excitement. "Who is she?" she demanded in a whisper. "Is it someone I know?"

Angie laughed a little. "No, you don't know her. Her name is Peggy, and she's honest to goodness the most beautiful woman I've ever met." Lucia placed the pies on the counter, looking intrigued.

"So? Tell me more. Does she know how you feel? Has anything happened?" Angie rubbed the back of her neck, trying not to grin like a child. She wasn't successful.

"We--kissed." Lucia squealed with delight and then covered her mouth quickly. "That's wonderful, Angie. She's nice, this Peggy? You like her?"

"Yes, very much," Angie answered, probably too quickly, not even bothering to hide her dopey grin, and Lucia gave her an interested look. "Is it serious?" she gasped, poking Angie in the ribs.

Angie, ever ticklish, giggled quietly and tried to shush her. "Yes. No. I mean, it's too early to tell. We've only known each other for a month." Lucia cocked her head. "But it's serious for you, isn't it?" Angie shrugged and tried not to think of how it felt to hold Peggy in her arms. "I dunno. Maybe.

Lucia picked up the pies and motioned for Angie to follow with the plates and knives. "I want to meet her," she said. Angie laughed a little, heading back into the dining room.

"Angie."

Angie turned around quizzically. "I mean it. Bring her here."

 

 

A few days later, Deborah came bounding into the apartment. “What're you so excited about?” Angie asked, watching as Deborah removed her shoes and hat. Deborah's face was shining and she couldn't stop smiling.

“Millie want to come over for dinner soon,” she said, words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. Angie squealed and grabbed Deborah's hands. “That's wonderful! When is she coming? Don't forget, I'm making you dinner.”

A day or so after, Angie made good on her promise and prepared a dinner of homemade pasta and meat sauce. She even cleaned the bathroom.

It was an hour before Millie was due to arrive, and Angie had never seen Deborah so nervous. Quite frankly, she was enjoying it.

Deborah, always the picture of composure and practicality, with her slow, methodical movements and logically thought out actions, was zipping back and forth through the apartment, straightening things that didn't need to be straightened, changing her clothes again and again.

She whizzed into the kitchen where Angie was preparing dinner, her grandmother's recipe for homemade pasta and puttanesca sauce. "How's everything?" she asked, hurriedly, head over Angie's shoulder. "Do you need anything?"

"Deborah, I'm fine." Deborah moved to her other side to look at the pasta. "But do you need any help?" Angie rolled her eyes. "Honey, you're hovering."

Deborah made an apologetic noise and walked into the living, ostensibly to tidy up, though she'd spent two hours that afternoon cleaning. Not long after, Angie heard Deborah walking back and forth, and she smiled to herself. "Stop pacing!" she called. "You'll wear the floor out."

She heard Deborah groan, but she stopped pacing, sitting down on the sofa with a huff. Probably wringing her hands, poor thing.

"Good girl," Angie called, dashing a bit of pepper into the sauce.

About 10 minutes or so later, there was a knock at the door, and Deborah flew to answer it. But before she reached the door, it opened of its own, and in poured Esther and Isabel, stopping by to rib Deborah about her date.

"Oh, it's you," Deborah made no attempt to hide her disappointment, though she smiled and hugged them. She returned to her pacing.

"How do I look?" she asked for the fiftieth time, smoothing her dress and hair. "Honey, you look radiant," said Isabel, walking over to try and soothe her nerves, enveloping Deborah's hands with her own. Isabel's quiet nature was a balm and Deborah began to relax.

Esther kissed Deborah's forehead and went into the kitchen. "Can we stay and meet her?" she whispered conspiratorially, dipping a finger into Angie's sauce. Angie bumped her with her waist. "No, you can't yet. Apparently she's skittish. But we're trying to get her to come to Bronzeville soon, and everyone can meet her then."

Esther huffed with resignation. "Fine. What about your lady? Any news?" She waggled her eyebrows and Angie blushed lightly, staring deeply into the pot. "There is!" Esther squealed. "Tell me!"

Angie hated how dopey she got when she talked about Peggy, but she was learning to deal with it. She just couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "Well," she started, "I went over to her apartment one night. We listened to the radio and drank tea--she's English, you know--and then we just sat and talked. I just love listening to her talk because her accent is just so...perfect." She paused and tried to conjure Peggy's voice in her mind.

Esther nudged her. "Go on!"

"Right. After awhile, she puts on some music and we slow danced. Then somehow she started tickling me, and we fell onto the couch. And we just--talked some more. About kissing girls, and the like." Angie did not want to remember her own awkwardness. She made a small face.

"And then??" Esther was in agony. "And then--I kissed her!" Esther had to muffle her scream. "How was it?! Did she kiss you back? Is she a good kisser?"

Angie laughed at her friend's excitement. "It was, without a doubt, one of the most perfect experiences of my life," she said sincerely (though perhaps a tad dramatically. She really could have been an actress, in another life).

"She's a fantastic kisser, Esther. Her lips are so soft, and she tastes so good, and the things she does with her mouth...and her hands..." Angie felt herself fading into rapture but was unable to stop herself.

Esther seemed as if she would jump out of her skin. "When do we get to meet her?" she demanded. "Are you going to bring her to Bronzeville, too?" Angie was quiet for a brief moment. "I actually--don't know. It's still so early," she admitted. "And I'm not sure it would be her--her thing. She's kind of, well...English."

Esther looked displeased and disapproving, her eyes narrowing slightly, eyebrows downturned. "I don't know that I like the fact that you're seeing someone who's too good for the rest of your friends," she said. Sighing, Angie turned off the heat under the pasta. "I know. And hopefully she isn't, really. I just need time to ease her into it."

Just then, Isabel walked into the kitchen. "Esther, we should probably go. We don't want to scare this Millie off." She smiled at Angie. "Save us some pasta?"

Not long after they'd gone, there was another knock at the door, this one light and timid. This time Deborah was petrified in place, unable to move. She threw a look at Angie, who couldn't resist the opportunity to tease.

"Aren't you going to let your girlfriend in?" she giggled. "She's not my girlfriend," Deborah hissed, but there was no seriousness to her tone, and there was a quirk to her lips. After a moment, she took a breath and walked to the door. She looked again to Angie, who gave her a thumbs up, and opening the door.

There stood Millie, a tall, slender blonde, whose hair, as yellow as corn it seemed to Angie, fell in soft waves to her shoulders. She wore a light green summer dress with a matching headband, and even from where Angie stood, she could see Millie's bright eyes, a brilliant shade of periwinkle.

"Hi," Deborah breathed, unmoving. "Deborah, you look lovely," Millie said, smiling a soft smile and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Deborah blinked and wrung her hands. "You look really nice too, Millie," she said, in a slightly strangled voice, and Millie set down her purse, tipped Deborah's face up with her finger, and kissed her, briefly but sweetly, before entwining Deborah's with her own and touching their foreheads together.

"Hi," she said softly, and Deborah smiled.

Angie felt a rush in her chest. She couldn't recall the last time Deborah had smiled such a perfect, real, satisfied smile. Millie had better know what she was about, because if she took even one wrong step and hurt Deborah, Angela Martinelli would become an avenging angel.

She cleared her throat gently but purposefully, walking forward. "Well, honey, aren't you gonna introduce me?"

Deborah look up with a start, as if she'd completely forgotten Angie existed. Angie might have been miffed it it hadn't been so positively endearing. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Angie, this is Millie. Millie, this is my best friend and roommate, Angie Martinelli." Millie smiled and shook Angie's hand firmly. "Deborah says you've made dinner for us tonight. Thank you."

Well, she seemed gracious and sweet. Perhaps the avenging angel bit could wait. Angie smiled. "Come have a seat at the table and eat before the food gets cold, ladies."

Dinner was very pleasant; everyone was highly complimentary to Angie's meal, which pleased her to no end. As the night went on, Angie had to admit that perhaps there was no need to hate Millie just yet. After all, Deborah hadn't stopped smiling all night, and Angie on occasion had to nudge her so she'd remember to speak; and Millie, for her part, looked completely besotted and barely took her eyes off of Deborah all evening.

It was all terribly cute.

After serving her mother's famed dessert, a light sponge cake covered in mascarpone and fresh fruit, served with white wine, Angie excused herself, dropping a kiss to Deborah's hair, and Deborah and Millie have their privacy.

Sinking onto her bed, she pulled out a book and tried to read, but she was distracted. She missed Peggy, wondering for the hundredth time what on earth her mysterious job was that kept her so busy and out so late.

_Maybe the next time I ask, she'll actually tell me._

 

Days passed pleasantly, and soon days turned into weeks. Peggy hadn't missed another game, though she'd often been late, and Angie's performance had never been better.

They quickly fell into a rhythm, spending evenings at Peggy's apartment, at diners, or the cinema. With every kiss, every late night stroll, every impassioned debate about baseball, Angie felt herself falling fast for Peggy, the dark haired mysterious beauty. When Peggy spoke of her experiences in the war, Angie would imagine Peggy at dinner with her family, speaking Italian almost like a native. She dissolved into giggles whenever Peggy spoke with her mouth full of food, which was often; she sometimes thought Peggy was simply a fancy child.

Peggy wasn't forthcoming about her childhood or experiences in New York; getting information from her was a tug-of-war game Angie won rarely, and only by persistence, force of will and pure luck.

One night, after a homemade dessert of cherry pie and their customary tea mixed with whiskey, Angie leaned her head onto Peggy's shoulder and told her about the day they'd found out about Angelo; Peggy, tongue loosened by spirits, had spoken haltingly of Steve. Angie held her hand tightly, and kissed her soundly after; Peggy, worn out, had fallen asleep in Angie's lap. Angie had stayed till morning, stroking Peggy's soft, thick hair until she herself had drifted off.

Angie's friends clamored to meet Peggy, but Angie, for the first time, felt selfish. Peggy didn't have much free time, and Angie was greedy; she wanted all of it. She couldn't get enough.

Eventually, after they'd been seeing each other for about a month, Peggy met Deborah, at Deborah's insistence.

“I never see you anymore,” she complained. “And whenever I do, it's 'Peggy' this and 'Peggy' that. Usually I have to ask about your girl of the month.” Angie shrugged and continued reading. Deborah continued. “When am I ever gonna lay my eyeballs on her? For all I know she ain't even real.” She narrowed her eyes. “What's wrong with her?” Angie sighed in mock annoyance. “Nothing's wrong with her, Deborah. We've just been enjoying each other's company.” She pointedly turned the page of her book.

Deborah smirked. “Oh, I bet you have,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Now Angie looked up, blushing. “No, not like that. We haven't...done that yet.” Deborah seemed intrigued. “Really? Why?”

“I—I don't really know,” Angie admitted. “I guess it just hasn't come up.” Deborah tilted her head. “Angie, are you gettin' serious about this dame?” Angie looked at her hands and was quiet.

“I think I might be,” she finally said, softly. “She's—unlike anyone I've ever met, Deborah. She's special. So, so--” She waved her hand, wordlessly, and Deborah came over, after a beat, and sat down. “I think I could love her,” Angie whispered. “I don't know if I'm in love yet, but I think—I think I could be one day.”

Deborah's eyes widened. “Alright, I need to meet this woman immediately,” Deborah said firmly, and Angie acquiesced. She called Peggy at home.

“Peg? It's Angie,” she'd said excitedly as soon as Peggy had answered. “Well, hello, Angie, I was hoping you'd call.” Angie's stomach had yet to learn that it was unnecessary to fill with butterflies whenever Peggy greeted her on the phone.

“Are you busy tonight, Peg? Do-do you wanna come over an' meet Deborah, maybe?” Peggy had agreed, and promised to be there in 30 minutes.

Angie had been a bit nervous, but when she heard the knock on the door, she felt strangely calm, as if things were taking place just as they should. She opened it, and there stood Peggy, beautiful in a dark blue dress with red empire waist and trim, her hair pinned back neatly, her lipstick perfect. Angie almost forgot to breathe.

“Angie, you look lovely,” Peggy greeted, pulling Angie toward her and kissing her soundly. “You're beautiful,” Angie breathed as they broke apart. Peggy smiled and nipped at Angie's lips. “You like the dress?” The dress accentuated Peggy's curves in all the right ways; Angie couldn't stop staring.

“I brought some chocolate for Deborah. Is that alright, do you think?” Angie snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, yes, she loves chocolate. That was sweet of you, Peg.” She stood on her toes and kissed Peggy's cheek.

“Oh, aren't you two sweet,” came a voice from behind Angie, and she turned around with a grin. “Deborah Jackson, meet Peggy Carter,” she introduced, pulling Peggy forward shyly. Peggy smiled brightly and shook Deborah's hand. “Miss Jackson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Angie speaks of you very highly and very often,” she said, with a laugh.

Deborah shook Peggy's hand enthusiastically. “Well, for once, Angie was not exaggerating,” she commented. “You're quite the looker, Miss Carter.” Peggy shook her head. “You're too kind. And you have the most bewitching eyes.” Deborah shot Angie a look. “And you're charming. I see why Angie likes you so much.” Angie blushed but Deborah was not deterred. “She talks about you all the time, Miss Carter, so it's nice to put a name with a face.”

“Please, call me Peggy,” Peggy said. “Oh, and I brought this for you, Miss Jackson,” she continued, proffering a small package tied with brown paper and string. “Deborah,” Deborah said, taking the package. “And thank you.”

Just a few minutes later, Deborah and Peggy were deep in conversation about Billie Holiday. Peggy had apparently seen her at her sold-out Carnegie Hall show that March, and Deborah was demanding to hear every detail. Angie poured drinks for them all and brought them over, taking a seat next to Peggy. Peggy looked over and thanked her with a smile, before returning to her story. They had talked for hours. Deborah was friendly and chatty, and Peggy was gracious and sweet.

Finally, Peggy stood up, citing early work hours, and Deborah had hugged her, a move that shocked yet pleased Angie. Peggy also seemed quietly pleased. “So wonderful to meet you, Deborah. Good night, Angie, I'll call you tomorrow,” she'd said, kissing Angie briefly, and left.

As soon as the door closed, Deborah came over and kissed Angie's cheek. “I love Peggy,” she said simply. “She's wonderful. Don't let her slip away.” She turned to head to their room, but Angie caught her arm.

“You hugged her,” she pointed out. “What did you whisper in her ear?” Deborah looked her in the eye. “I told her what would happen if she hurt you,” she said, and grinned. Angie shook her head. “Deborah...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ASS!! Filler chapters are the worst!
> 
> No notes bc I am TIRED.


	10. Chapter 8--Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's point of view. Have some fluff before your angst!

After spending an enjoyable few weeks playing tourist around her new city, Peggy now preferred staying in of an evening. Long hours at the SSR Chicago office, combined with her work with Dr. Fermi at the lab, had started to take their toll. And yet, it seemed all Angie had to do was ask, bat her long eyelashes, maybe flash that 100-watt smile, and Peggy was game for anything.

She hated disappointing Angie.

Peggy let out a long breath, willing herself to get back to work. She hated paperwork. Loathed it. She'd relegated it, as much as possible, to mornings, when she had her most energy and drive, and would normally barrel through stubbornly, like an angry bull. Clearing her mind of all other thoughts, relegating any personal issues to the back of her mind, and getting the job done. It worked well, flawlessly, until Angie.

These days, Peggy couldn't shake Angie's eyes and magical smile from her mind; the morning after they'd kissed, she had daydreamed all day about Angie's lips.

Margaret Carter did _not_ daydream.

And yet, in the weeks since, she had begun with a vengeance.

After zoning out in a staff meeting one morning (and only just recovering in time to answer intelligently) and walking into her office door frame another, she knew she had to attack the problem head on. This would most emphatically not do. Brilliant blue eyes and bright smile be damned, she had a job to do. After giving the problem some thought on the walk to work a few days ago, she came up with a system for dealing with the constant Angie thoughts. She would give herself 5 minutes, every two hours, dedicated to cleansing her mind of Angie's intrusive--yet beautiful--presence.

Armed with these defensive tactics, Peggy arrived triumphantly at work one Wednesday morning in July. And the system worked beautifully--with rich, absent parents and years spent as the overachieving and smartest yet chubbiest and teased girl at a posh boarding school, Peggy had always been good at compartmentalizing--

...until she ran out of things to do. Which happened because _no one was turning in completed reports._

Peggy wondered absently if she could categorize the time she spent planning how to get Angie to agree to stay in more as work; perhaps she could call it strategics, or tactical practice. Critical thinking training?

 _Don't be ridiculous. Why don't you focus on doing your real job._ Huffing, she rose from her desk and decided to put some heat under Agent Dolan, the worst offender when it came to not turning in reports.

But the tall, mustachioed man was not in his office. Indeed, it seemed most of the offices on the floor were empty. Irritated, she looked around the office and then peered out into the hall, as if he would just appear out of thin air. Where was he? Where the reports he'd promised would be in that day? Where was everyone, for that matter?

She looked down and her watch and realized: lunch break. Of course. Most people took their lunch outside of the office, she supposed. _Amateurs._

Back in her office, she sank into her chair and pulled out her brown bagged lunch, a tuna fish sandwich, apple, and banana, and ate, putting her feet up on her desk and leaning back in her chair. Who was there to see it? Peggy congratulated herself on still being a rebel, biting into her apple with purpose.

The phone rang, drawing her out of her reverie, and she nearly fell out of her spinning swivel chair. She did drop her apple; it rolled under her desk just out of reach. Grabbing for the phone, she tried to locate the fruit with her foot as she answered the call.

"Carter," she huffed into the receiver, toeing at the apple. _There!_ Without putting the phone down, she reached and to pick the apple up off the floor.

"Peggy? It's Angie. Sorry to disturb you at your fancy job at wherever you work." Peggy regarded the dirt-covered apple apple on her desk. Oh yes. Fancy job, indeed.

"Hi, Angie," she said, brightly. "I won't keep you long. It's just, I just found out that my plans for tonight fell through and I was wondering if you might be up for doing something."

"That sounds fine, Angie. Why don't you come over to mine around 8:30?"

Angie had agreed and let her get back to work. Peggy dusted off the apple--Waste not, want not, her grandmother had always said--and let herself revel, for a moment, in the thought of seeing Angie. A quiet night of listening to Angie chat, and perhaps kissing her a bit, would be an ample reward for a day full of slogging through the mess of paperwork and reports on her desk, dropped there by male agents who preferred grandstanding at each other and taking boozy lunches to completing their work.

 _Thank goodness for the secretaries._ Peggy thought, standing up to stretch. She had befriended them almost immediately after starting at the Chicago office. With their empathy, humor, and utter competency, they very nearly singlehandedly kept the office running smoothly (and Peggy's sanity intact).

Looking out the window at the effects of the Chicago summer wind, she decided to refresh her coffee. She headed to the breakroom, a noticeable jaunt to her step, and Mattie, the Negro secretary who had started around the same time she had, had noticed.

"Looks like you've had an afternoon pick-me-up, Agent Carter," she commented with a smile. "Maybe a call from a gentleman friend?" Peggy laughed. "Not quite, Mattie. Just...a friend, wanting to get together this evening." Peggy ignored the way it felt like betrayal, calling Angie just a friend.

It was Mattie's turn to laugh. "Oh, so you do have friends!" Another secretary, Susan, a quiet but brilliant brunette, walked in. "Susan, listen to this. You'll never guess. Agent Carter...has friends." Susan burst into her ridiculous giggle, and despite stiffly protesting that of course she had friends, Peggy soon found herself laughing as well.

"You should bring your friend to girls' night this Friday," Mattie suggested, once the giggles had subsided. Peggy stiffened slightly. "What is...girls' night?" she asked hesitantly, dreading the answer. It hardly sounded like something she would enjoy.

"Well, usually once a month all the secretaries get together and go for dinner, or a movie, or a show," Susan explained. "We've never had a female agent before, so it's only ever been the secretaries, but now that you're here, you're welcome to join us, Agent Carter."

"And now that you apparently have a friend, you should bring her too," Mattie joined in. "It's always a good time."

Peggy was caught offguard by this, and took a gulp of coffee to mask her discomfort. "Er, hrm," she said. "That is, I don't think...I'm not sure I'd be able to make it. I'm sorry." Susan and Mattie exchanged a look, and Susan excused herself, saying she had to get back to work.

Mattie's face had fallen but she tried valiantly to hide it with a nod. "I hope we didn't--overstep," she said softly, turning to go. "Good afternoon, Agent."

"Mattie, no. Wait." Peggy put down her coffee as the dark-skinned woman turned around, looking hopeful. "Forgive me. I-I'd love to come to, er, girls' night. When is it this month?" Mattie looked positively chipper. "Friday," she said, eagerly. "Will you bring your friend?"

Peggy cleared her throat. "Uh, perhaps. I'll enquire. But I'll definitely be there." Mattie nodded, looking quietly pleased. "Thank you, Agent."

Walking back to her office, Peggy stopped and looked to see if Agent Dolan had returned, but he was still absent. Would he ever return? Truly, this office needed some turning around.

“Agent Carter!” came a booming voice from behind. _Speak of the devil, and he appears,_ Peggy grimaced. “Agent Dolan,” she greeted, her mouth tight around the corners. “You've finally returned.” He laughed and walked in to his office. “Miss me?” Peggy followed, deciding it was better to ignore that, instead demanding, “Where are my reports from the Korean borders?” Agent Dolan took of his hat and sank leisurely into his chair.

“I just got back from lunch, Carter, let a man breathe,” he said, propping his feet on his desk. “When do you need them?”

“Preferably yesterday morning when they were due, but I suppose that ship has sailed, hasn't it?” She snapped. Dolan shrugged, lackadaisical, and Peggy felt her ire rising and patience quickly depleting. Pursing her lips, she turned to go, biting out a final, “Just have it to me by the end of the day, if you can possibly manage.”

She walked back out in to the hallway, looking in the other offices. It seemed all of the agents in the department had returned. They must have all gone to lunch together, without her. Again.

After returning to her office to retrieve the partially completed reports, she marched emphatically down to the next office, and did not even bother to knock. “Agent Miller, do you have a moment?” He waved her in, looking uncomfortable.

“Agent Miller, can you explain to me why this report is unfinished?” Miller ran a hand through his jet black hair. “I suppose I could, but then I'd have to kill you,” he joked, loudly guffawing at his own humor.

The gun strapped to Peggy's thigh—and the knife in her garter—cried out to her, _like Abel's blood from the ground,_ she thought idly, and her complete and total disapproval must have shown on her face; Agent Miller took a look at her face and his laughter dried right up.

“I, I mean, no, I thought they were done,” he stuttered weakly. Peggy closed her eyes for a split second, praying to the god she did not believe in for strength. “In the future,” she said slowly and deliberately, tossing the incomplete paperwork on his desk, “Please only turn in completed reports. Meaning, when I find the folder on my desk, all paperwork is to be filled out, all blanks are to be filled in, and every extra thing mentioned is to be attached. That is all I will accept. I will not be chasing after you for it. I am not your mother, Agent Miller. Are we clear?”

Miller nodded soberly, and Peggy left his office. By now, she had decided enough was enough, and she visited every agent's office that afternoon and told them so.

She was never so happy to see the clock strike 7:00; gathering her things, she stalked out of the building and into the warm summer evening, a righteous satisfaction flowing through her and empowering her every step. As she hailed a cab and stepped inside, however, the tiredness began to creep in; and by the time she'd made it up the stairs to her apartment, she was thankful—was that even a strong enough word—that Angie had agreed to stay in tonight.

All she wanted that evening was to sit on her couch and look at Angie, maybe dance a little, hold her. Kiss her, for sure—after two months it still hadn't gotten old—

which is why she was shocked some hours later to find herself at the Chicago Museum's brand new railway exhibit.

_What the hell?!_

As Angie chattered on about the exhibit they'd seen (it seemed she was fascinated by engines of all kinds; most likely a product of being a mechanic's daughter), Peggy tried to recall how she had come to this.

Angie had arrived at 8:30 sharp at her apartment; when she'd knocked at the door, Peggy had simply bid her enter from the couch, where she'd been snoozing off and on.

Peggy remembered snapping awake when she'd seen what Angie was wearing: a sleek, pale blue dress with a dark blue sash at the waist, her hair down and softly curled. She was a vision.

“How do you like my new dress?” she'd asked, smiling impishly, twirling so Peggy could get the full affect. Peggy found herself standing almost involuntarily, walking without volition towards Angie, unable to take her eyes off of her.

Angie had danced gracefully into Peggy's arms, slipping her arms around her neck. “You look utterly divine,” Peggy had breathed against Angie's lips, and Angie had kissed her then, deep and sweet, fingers tangling in Peggy's hair.

When they pulled apart, Angie rubbed her face against Peggy's, _much like a kitten,_ Peggy had observed internally. “How was your day?” She whispered into Peggy's cheek, and for a moment, Peggy could not remember.

“Er, it was quite long,” she said finally, still holding Angie tight against her. “I'm a bit tired.” A brief look of concern flitted across Angie's face. “I'm sorry,” she said after a moment, gently pressing tiny kisses to her jaw and chin and slyly bringing her right hand down to lightly cup Peggy's breast.

Peggy was suddenly feeling less tired.

“It's...alright,” she said, Angie's kisses turning openmouthed and hot and slow on her neck and collarbone. “Well,” Angie said between kisses, “Are you too tired to...do something?” Peggy felt Angie's tongue licking a trail down her collarbone, and her hands moved lower, grasping Peggy's hips.

No, Peggy was not quite that tired.

“N-no, I suppose not.” Angie made a small happy noise against her throat. “How do you feel about going out?” she whispered into Peggy's ear. Peggy made a face. “Well, it's not quite what I had in mind--”

Angie slowly stopped her onslaught of kisses, pulling back and entwining her fingers with Peggy's before pulling Peggy's arms around her. “Alright,” she said lightly, fixing on Peggy with wide, slowly blinking eyes, a noticeable pout forming on her face. “Not even for a little while?” She got a mischievous look on her face. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” She slowly dragged a finger up the side of Peggy's arm, and Peggy felt what little resolve she'd had left crumble.

“We can do whatever you'd like if you kiss me again,” she said with a smile, and Angie squealed and happily complied.

Before Peggy knew what exactly had happened, she was dressed and headed downtown. The night was cool, and they'd opted to walk.

“So where are you taking me?” Peggy asked, feeling slightly bewitched. “The City Museum,” Angie answered brightly, and Peggy had groaned a bit. She was not normally a fan of museums; she generally found them a bit too congratulatory to self-important men of history while generally belittling or even ignoring the contributions of women or minority groups-- _Not to put too fine a point on it_ —and she'd said as much to Angie. But Angie had simply rolled her eyes and said, “I just want to see the new trains.” And Peggy had let her prevail.

That was becoming a somewhat troubling trend. Angie was proving to be a strategist of high caliber.

“There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?” Angie had asked afterwards, beaming at her, and Peggy had grudgingly admitted that it had not. She'd secretly enjoyed watching Angie excitedly move from station to station in the exhibit, occasionally turning to point out things she liked or make comments about the pictures; and she got felt a secret thrill whenever Angie would come back to her side, “accidentally” brushing her fingers against Peggy's while relating some interesting fact.

They stood outside of the museum in the cool evening air. Angie was full of energy, unable to stay still; her arms waving gracefully in time with the breeze, wrists bent, fingers fluttering. Every now and again she'd raise up on her toes, like a ballerina, and give a little twirl, the light material of her dress leisurely twisting with the movement.

Peggy was utterly enchanted.

“So what now, Pegs? You hungry?” She danced back over to Peggy, though she was sure not to get to close. “I could eat,” Peggy admitted.

They walked a few blocks until they found a restaurant that suited them both, and decided on a dim corner booth. They chatted and tasted each others' food, despite Peggy's protestations that it might look too intimate. “Like a date,” she'd hissed, and Angie had raised an eyebrow. “It _is_ a date,” she pointed out. “Isn't it?”

“Well, yes. Of course. But we're--”

“Just having a late dinner, for all anyone can tell,” Angie said. “Friends taste other friends' dishes all the time.”

“Perhaps, but 'friends' don't play footsie with each other under the table.” Angie laughed. “Let me know when people are able to see through these black tablecloths, and I'll start worrying about that.”

There was a brief silence, and Peggy sipped her drink, trying not to notice Angie's curious look. She wondered what she might be thinking.

They'd been doing whatever this nebulous, boundary-less dance was called (dating? They'd never truly discussed it) for two months, yet they still had much to learn about each other. Though if Peggy was being honest, she knew much more of Angie than Angie knew of her; Peggy knew all about Angie's family, much of her childhood, had seen her at work, knew many of her likes and dislikes. Angie didn't even know what Peggy did for a living.

“Pegs, how long are we gonna see each other like this before you tell me what you do for a job?” Peggy very nearly choked on her wine. She knew it. Angie was a witch. First the spell she'd put Peggy under, and now reading her mind.

“Well. I'm a consultant...of sorts,” she said, slowly and evasively. Angie cocked her head. “Yeah I know, that's what that card says that you gave me. And it's what you always say before you change the subject. But I'm wondering, is that some kinda code for something else?” she asked, plainly. Peggy swallowed. “Why would you ask?” Angie shrugged and took a bite of a breadstick. “Cause you seem pretty hush hush about it, whenever I bring it up. And you never mention it. Most people complain about their jobs all the time. Or at least talk about what they did that day. But not you. Don't think I've ever heard you even mention it, apart from being tired, or having a long day. And that's only when I press.” She paused and continued. “Not to mention, there's no address on the card. No business name or logo. Just your name, 'consultant', and a phone number.”

Peggy fidgeted but was silent. “I been dying to ask for awhile now, but I didn't wanna pry, y'know? But then I got thinking, if we're going to be...seeing each other,” here she looked at Peggy significantly, “I thought it would be important for me to at least know what you do. Don't you agree, Peg?”

Peggy found herself nodding, despite herself. “You're perfectly right, Angie.” She took a breath. “I haven't really spoken about—my job because a lot of what I do is quite...sensitive,” she explained, lowering her voice despite the restaurant's bustling. “It involves some pretty important people and highly...classified information.” Angie leaned in, eyes bright. “So are you like some kinda federal agent? FBI or CIA or somethin'?” She lowered her voice even further. “Ohhh are you a spy?” Peggy laughed a little. “No, Angie, I'm not a spy. Though if I was, I could hardly tell you, now could I?”

Angie stuffed more bread into her mouth. “No, s'pose not.” She paused. “So do you ever--”

“Angie, we should perhaps save the rest of this conversation for a venue that's not quite so public,” she interrupted. Angie's mouth made an 'o' shape and she nodded, conspiratorially. “Of course.”

Peggy hoped she would drop it, but as soon as they got back to her apartment, Angie's conversation switched immediately from baseball to Peggy.

“So what do you do?” she asked, as soon as Peggy had closed and locked the door. Peggy took off her hat and fluffed her hair. “I guess you could say we try and keep everyone safe from threats.” Angie looked intrigued. “What kind of threats?” Peggy shrugged. “All kinds.”

“And so what do you actually do all day? Like on a normal day?” Peggy rolled her eyes. “Mostly paperwork,” she said, truthfully. Angie was beginning to get frustrated, Peggy could tell; her brow furrowed and eyes narrowing.

Peggy walked over to the kitchen and put on the kettle. “You're not saying very much,” Angie pointed out, following her. “I told you, Angie, I can't...tell you very much. It's for your own protection, as well.” Angie made a non-committal noise, and then suddenly her face changed.

“Peggy?”

“Hm?” Peggy was reaching for cups from the cabinets. “Is your job ever...dangerous? Is that why you disappeared? Before?” Angie's tone was soft but concerned; when Peggy turned around, Angie's eyes were clouded. “Angie--”

“Just answer me.” Angie was looking out of the kitchen window now, and Peggy sighed. “Keeping the public safe is an important job,” she said carefully. “Of course it's not without some risk.” Angie's eyes flicked to Peggy's, worry written on her face.

“But,” Peggy went on, “I assure you, I and my coworkers are more than capable of handling whatever risks present themselves. It's our job, and we're all highly competent.” She reached down and took Angie's hand. “There's no need for you to worry.” She smiled, but Angie did not return it, instead glancing back out of the window before separating their joined hands. She refused to meet Peggy's eyes, her shoulders stiff and turned slightly away from her.

Peggy set down the cup she'd been holding in her other hand and walked over to Angie, running a finger down her arm. “Angie? What's wrong?”

Angie whirled around. “What do you mean, 'what's wrong'? You basically just told me that your mysterious job is not only mysterious but dangerous, and you disappeared a few weeks ago without a trace, and you don't think I should be concerned?” Peggy's brow furrowed and she took a step back. “I only meant it's ridiculous to worry, Angie, because I've been doing this job for some years now. I know what I'm about. I know how to handle...things.” This seemed rational to Peggy.

“And I'm sure you do, Peg. But this is new for me. And I need—time.” She let out a breath. “I've never had a girlf—person I cared about that made me worry like this, because of their job. Not since Angelo,” she finished, softly. Peggy didn't know what to say.

“But doesn't the fact that I know what I'm doing mean there's no logical reason for you to be worried? I mean, my job isn't nearly as dangerous as it was a few years ag--” She stopped short when she saw the look on Angie's face. Peggy felt she was twisting herself in knots.

“Nothing you say is going to stop me from worrying about you, Peggy.” Angie's eyes were moist, and Peggy felt her stomach flip. “Why?” she asked quietly. Angie shook her head.

“Because I care about you,” she said simply, and Peggy felt her heart rend in two. It had been a long time since anyone had said those words; aside from Jarvis and Anna, Peggy couldn't even remember the last time.

“You do,” she said slowly, not quite a question, not quite a statement. “I do,” Angie repeated, taking Peggy's face into her hands. “And I, you,” Peggy said, leaning down to kiss Angie. But Angie stepped back suddenly.

“Peg.” Peggy cocked her head to one side. “Angie?” Angie squirmed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What is it?” Angie rubbed the back of her neck. “These last few months have been...fun, right? We enjoy each other's company?” Peggy felt her lips quirk. “I can't speak for you, but yes, I've—had fun. For sure. Why?” Angie looked as though she was gathering her courage. “Say it,” Peggy encouraged.

“I—I have too, Peg, I've had a great time. And we're, we're dating, right?” Peggy took a step towards Angie, amused. “I should say so,” she said. Angie nodded, nervously. “Are...you...dating anyone else? Because I'm not,” she rushed on. Peggy took another step. “It's just you, Angie.” Angie smiled a small smile.

“So, if I'm not seeing anyone else, and you're not either, we're—are we—” Angie took a breath. “Am I your girl, English?” She finally said, looking up at Peggy shyly, her eyes full of hope and something else Peggy couldn't quite name.

At first Peggy didn't know quite what to say; she hadn't had a proper girlfriend—or boyfriend, for that matter—since, well, Colleen. And though she had immediately felt very...attracted to Angie, she hadn't really expected things to go any further than they usually did. She hadn't gotten feelings involved since her first few months in New York, and she certainly hadn't planned on it Chicago. She thought back to her first week in the city, and the blonde girl she'd gone home with the night she and Phil had gotten smashed. She could barely recall the girl's face, and had made a point not to learn her name.

No, relationships were too risky, too dangerous; not to be repeated.

But she hadn't expected anyone like Angie.

Peggy had the most curious sensation as she stood in her kitchen, regarding the unbearable lightness of Angie Martinelli: she felt halved, split in two. Her rational side, strong and well-developed, bellowed mightily in her ears: the life she'd chosen left no room for a partner, at least not someone like Angie. She was altogether too beautiful, too gentle, too lovely. She wouldn't be able to handle it. Could she countenance even asking her to try? She should tell Angie it would be better if things stayed casual between them. Surely it was still early enough.

The other side of her was smaller perhaps, and quieter, but the whisper of her heart's wordless yearnings was insistent and stubborn. The yearnings, ones she would not admit, not even to herself. The one, in particular, that came to her every night, just before she drifted off to sleep, and would never let go. The one that tugged at her every single time she looked at Angie, and would not be ignored.

And as that same Angie, the vivacious, beautiful, eager, stood in her kitchen, looking at her with her huge blue eyes, Peggy realized that this would not, could not be a fling. Angie was everything Peggy knew she needed and didn't know she wanted: surprisingly perceptive, deeply sympathetic, and quietly understanding, compassionate and caring. Peggy couldn't remember the last time she'd met someone so completely open and without artifice, and Angie's utter disregard for the air of mystery Peggy preferred to cultivate was at once confronting and charming.

The battle raged fiercely, but briefly—Peggy had long been a sucker for the underdog; five years was a very long time to be alone, and the rest of her life, stretching on before her, would surely be even longer. More importantly, Peggy knew she did not want to live another day without Angie.

And so, quietly, and completely without fanfare, Peggy Carter did something she'd never done: she stopped fighting, and joined the long defeat.

“Am I?” Angie repeated. Peggy reached out and pulled Angie close. “Would you like to be?” Angie nodded silently.

“Then yes, you are,” Peggy said, kissing the tip of Angie's nose. “Can I ask you a question now?” she continued, more vulnerable then she she had let herself be in a very long time. Peggy felt Angie's arms encircle her. “What's your question?” she whispered.

“Am I your girl?” Peggy asked so quietly she almost didn't hear herself. But Angie did. “Would you like to be?” she asked seriously. Peggy nodded timidly but firmly, and the smile she received in return caused a ripple in her stomach.

“You're my girl, then,” Angie whispered, pulling her down for a kiss.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO TIRED
> 
> Comments/feedback here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come together. Told from alternating perspectives.

Thursday—Peggy

It was too hot.

_Hot damn._

Peggy mopped her brow with a handkerchief as she walked down the street toward Wilmot Field and Angie's game. Manhattan summers had been a trial, but she had not been prepared for Chicago in August. The only way to escape it was to stay inside—something unconscionable to the always moving Peggy Carter—or to strategically plan her outside routes. Because from 10am onward, the sun shined as if the devil himself had opened the very gates of hell.

Peggy chided herself for exaggerating. At least she'd remembered to bring a change of blouse today; last week she hadn't, and she'd had to endure the embarrassment of sweating right through her clothes and having everyone in the office notice. Agents Dolan and Miller had snickered. She'd silenced them with a look, but the damage was done.

She often wished she didn't sweat so much.  _Ladies don't sweat; they perspire._ Her late grandmother's words echoed in her ears, and she shook her head. Bridget Carter had been a strong, formidable woman, and she'd never approved of Peggy's rowdy, digging-in-the-dirt, walking barefoot, tree-climbing ways, though she and Peggy had loved each other despite this.

She definitely would not have been pleased with her granddaughter's career path, had she lived. Not her Army days, or SSR job, or the Howard Stark business from two years ago. She would have been positively scandalized.

To say nothing of the fact that Peggy was currently dating a woman. Had Bridget known  _that_ , she would have died all over again.

Peggy chuckled and then started to whistle, another habit that had often earned her an ear-boxing from her grandmother. When she finally arrived to the stadium, the game had already started; she made her way slowly to her favorite seat near the front. The late summer heat had apparently done little to diminish the fans' enthusiasm, as they still showed up in droves to the women's league games.

Taking her seat, she looked out onto the diamond at Angie, who was mopping her brow. She was sweating profusely as well, and Peggy wondered if she'd been drinking enough water. Angie never drank enough water. Peggy felt pain in the palms of her hands, where concern and worry always seemed to manifest. She balled her hands into fists.

She found she had trouble focusing on the game. Heat always made her restless, caused her mind to wander. She kept thinking of work. Would she ever be called back into the field?

She'd never tell Angie, but secretly, she hoped she would. As much as she loved living in Chicago, and despite the fact that she...felt very strongly about Angie, her arms ached for combat, her feet itched to travel. She hadn't left the country in two years, not since Russia, and she hadn't been on very many domestic missions, either. After Roger Dooley's death, she'd hoped she'd have more of a forefront presence in the New York SSR office, but Jack Thompson had proven to be the pompous ass Peggy had always known he was. Despite Daniel Sousa's protestations, Peggy had been relegated into an even more background position—as had Daniel—as Thompson brought in agents from elsewhere. She went on even fewer missions that before.

Peggy suspected Jack had never forgiven her for outsmarting him so often, or, indeed, for clocking him in the alley of the L&L automat.

Things were slightly better in the Chicago office, but so far she still hadn't gone on any real missions. Her consulting work with Dr. Fermi was fascinating and challenging—she had a lifelong love of science—but it didn't  _quite_ satisfy for craving for adrenaline.

She hated being stuck behind a desk, pushing paper.

“If the Asters when this game, they'll qualify for the playoffs,” the man seated next to her was saying, quite loudly, and Peggy was jolted back to the present. The playoffs? How had she not known that? Had Angie told her at some point?

She probably had, and Peggy hadn't been paying attention.

Peggy turned to the man next to her and tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, when are the playoffs?” she asked. “End of the month,” he answered. “And September is the championships. There's the eastern and western conference finals, then the all-star game, and then the league championships.” The woman on Peggy's left piped in. “This is the Asters' first season as a team, and no one expected them to do this well. They've got a real shot at making it to the conference finals.”

“Not the championship?” Peggy asked out of curiosity. “Nah. Springfield and Rockford are shoo-ins. Those hitters are unstoppable,” said the man. “Yeah,” the woman agreed. “Martinelli is fantastic now, but even she's no match for Rockford.” Peggy pursed her lips. “She has improved greatly over the season, though, has she not? Martinelli, I mean?” she pushed. Both the man and woman nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah, definitely. She's one of the best in the league now, I'd wager. She'll give whoever does make it to the championship a run for their money.”

The woman eagerly agreed. “She's got the classiest form of almost anyone I've ever seen. She pulls back and just let's go. It's effortless.”

“And yet she's so passionate. She puts her heart into every pitch,” Peggy piped up, unable to contain herself. “Plays her heart out at every game. Never gives up.” The woman smiled. “And she's so humble. You ever met her? She was so sweet to my daughter a few weeks ago.” Peggy looked out towards the diamond. “Why yes, actually, I have spoken to her a time or two. She does seem sweet.”

The Asters went on to win the game, and after the crowd had dispersed, Peggy walked to find Angie, a smile on her face. “I understand this means you've made it to your first playoffs,” she said casually. Anngie's eyes widened. “You remembered! So you do occasionally listen when I talk,” she teased, eyes twinkling. Peggy made a face. “I listen!” she protested indignantly, to which Angie laughed loudly. “Fine, I  _usually_ listen.”

Angie smiled an utterly beguiling smile. “That's more accurate. Let's go celebrate.” She took Peggy's arm, and they began to walk in the direction of where Angie lived. “So. Tomorrow is girl's night, isn't it?” They rounded the corner to her block. Peggy shrugged, which belied her excitement. Despite her reservations, she had fully enjoyed her first girls' night last month, though she hadn't invited Angie.

Angie had wanted to go, but Peggy had disagreed, wanting desperately to keep her work and personal circles as separate as possible. Angie had said she'd understood, but Peggy could tell she didn't like it.

“Yes. We're going to dinner and a show.” Angie glanced at her. “You all ever talk at those things?”

“ Yes, Angie, that's usually how humans communicate with each other,” Peggy answered with a chuckle. Angie threw her face. “You know what I mean. Do you talk to them—about things? Do you discuss things? How well to you know them? How well do they know  _you_ ?”

Peggy considered. Mattie had confided in her a bit on the cab ride home about being the only black person in the office, but aside from that, the conversations had stayed light.

“Not—that well,” she said. “Why do you ask?” Angie shrugged, kicking a pebble into the street. “I wondered if they'd ever come to a Bronzeville club. Fred's club is having a big to do on Saturday night.” Peggy could not imagine Susan in Bronzeville. “I don't think they'd be interested,” she said finally. “They're not quite that adventurous, I'm afraid.”

Not to mention, she had no intention of telling them about her love life.

There was that word again.

She shook her head as Angie stole another glance at her. “Then do you think you'd ever come, Peg? With me? Maybe this Saturday?” There was an unmistakable note of hope in Angie's voice, and Peggy didn't dare look at her. Instead, she made the awful  _harrumph_ -ing sound her father used to make when he was attempting to stall for time. “Well, you see--”

“It's just that, I've asked you a few times, and you never say yes, though you never quite say no, either. Whenever I suggest it, you say let's stay in, instead. But since you seem to be excited about going out tomorrow, and it's been a while since we've been anywhere...” Angie trailed off, looking at her hopefully.

Peggy had never been so happy for a work engagement. “Not this time, Angie, I unfortunately have--”

“To work. Alright.” Angie didn't look at her. “Just thought I'd try again.” Peggy felt a weight settle on her shoulders, but was silent.

“Why don't you come up for awhile? Deborah's out,” Angie said, brightly, a few moments later. “I'll make you some coffee and you can tell me about your day.”

 

**Saturday—Angie**

_11:09pm_

“I'm beginning to suspect that this Peggy is simply a figment of your imagination,” Esther was saying. “We never see her at your place, she never comes here. No one's seen her but you!”

Angie sighed. “She works a lot, I told you.” Esther took a sip of her drink. “But it's been almost 3 months, and no one's seen her.” She looked over to Isabel for support. “Am I wrong?” Isabel smiled softly. “Not quite no one, dear. Deborah met her, remember?”

Esther huffed and crossed her arms. “But why--”

"The show will be starting soon,” Angie interrupted, not wanting to talk about Peggy anymore. “I'm going to grab another drink. Be right back.” She left the crowded stage area and made her way back to the bar. She tried not to be jealous of the cute couples she passed.

_You signed up for this, Martinelli,_ she scolded herself.  _Stop acting like a sulky child._ She supposed it wasn't the end of the world. There was always next week, right? And maybe if she agreed to another night in, she and Peggy could finally have--

“Hey, honey. You're lookin' a little down in the mouth all of a sudden,” came Deborah's voice from behind the bar. “You here for another drink?” Angie nodded at took a seat. “Another Schnapps, please. But peach this time.” Deborah pulled out a glass. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked, looking at Angie out of the corner of her eye. Angie shrugged. “Where's Millie? She's supposed to come tonight, right?” She swung around on the stool and looked around for the yellow blond hair, but it was impossible to see in the dimly lit club.

“Oh, she'll be here when I get off,” Deborah said, sliding Angie's drink across the bar. “Where's your Peggy?” Glancing at her, Angie finished half her drink in one gulp.

“Not coming,” she said curtly. Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting her?” Angie briefly took out her frustrations on the shiny wood of the bar, kicking it with her feet.

“Well. No. She said she had to work, when I asked her the other day.” Deborah looked at her, but didn't say anything. “But who has to work on Saturday night?” Angie hoped she didn't sound resentful, but she knew she could be honest with Deborah without being judged.

“ Apparently Peggy does, honey. Didn't you tell me she has some kind of secret job?” Angie  _hmphed_ but nodded. “She won't tell me what it is. Even though I'm her girlfriend.” She finished her drink, and Deborah passed her another without asking.

Another customer came up to the bar and Deborah stepped away briefly to serve them. “I'm sure she has her reasons,” Deborah said diplomatically. “Also, have you ever thought that maybe Bronzeville isn't her thing? Or maybe she's not quite ready to meet all your friends? Peggy seems pretty private to me.” Angie gulped more of her drink. “She does prefer staying in.”

Deborah smiled. “There you go, then. Give her time. She'll come around.”

“But why won't she tell me about her work? I should know, Deborah.” Deborah looked at her curiously. “And why is that?” she asked, a look of amusement on her face.

“Because I love her!” Angie said, almost without thinking; and it shocked her, not because it was too soon (though it was) and not beca1use she hadn't planned on admitting it (which she hadn't), but because of how completely natural it felt coming out of her mouth, rolling off her tongue. She gasped a little, eyes wide.

“Don't tell her I said that,” she whispered. Deborah just smiled. “Of course not.”

A pause, as Angie turned over those three words in her head. They did feel right. Should she tell Peggy? No. Absolutely not. Three months was far too soon. And they hadn't even had

“I'm sure she'll tell you when she can,” Deborah was saying. “I know she feels strongly about you too. Now go, before you miss Fred. I hear the show is tip top tonight.” Angie sighed and nodded, pulling bills from her purse to stuff into Deborah's tip jar when she turned to serve another customer.

Heading back to the stage area, she heard Peggy's clipped tones in her mind:  _It's for your own protection, Angie._ It's what Peggy would always say when Angie dared to press. Angie was sure that was true, but still she hated it. She didn't want to be protected from things  _by_ Peggy; she wanted to be in things  _with_ Peggy.

But maybe that was a ridiculous thought.

 

** Saturday—Peggy **

_ 8:27pm-11:45pm _

She really did have work to do. Dr. Fermi had called her in around 5am on Friday, expressing concern about a break in to his lab. He had long been worried that someone was trying to sabotage his work, and the SSR, who were invested in Dr. Fermi's inventions, had assigned Peggy to his case.

When she'd arrived, there were indeed signs on break in, but the experiments were only partially missing. Peggy suspected that whoever had broken in would be back, and so prepared a stakeout. She stopped by the office to make calls and do a bit of research before heading back to the lab to wait.

And she'd been right: around 9pm the culprits had returned to finish the job. Peggy distracted them by attracting their attention in separate directions; she'd cornered one man and smashed him over the head with a nearby microscope. She quickly tied his hands and feet and then raced after the other culprit.

He'd led her on a merry chase through the facility, but he'd proven no match for Peggy's speed or revolver. A shot in the calf brought him down, and she'd made quick work of tying him up and calling for backup.

She'd identified them as guns for hire, working for a local Russian syndicate, and soon she was able to leave them in the capable hands of Agents Dolan and Miller. They tried not to be impressed by Peggy's exploits, but with little success.

Peggy had left exhilarated; this was what she lived for. She nearly flew home on leftover adrenaline. But when she'd arrived at her apartment, kicked off her shoes, and began pulling the remaining pins out of her hair, she couldn't settle down. Her restlessness was compounded; her apartment was at once to small and too empty.

She paced around the apartment, putting the kettle on in the kitchen and then heading for the bathroom, where she got undressed and addressed a few scrapes she'd gotten in the night's exploits. She walked to her room but wasn't ready for pajamas. Instead, she put on a robe and wandered back into the kitchen. Frustrated, she found herself in the living room again, sitting on the couch for a grand total of two seconds before jumping up.

What on earth was the matter with her? What was she looking for? Everything was as it had always been—she rush of energy, the thrum of blood in her veins, the tingling in her limbs, the sense of accomplishment—yet something was missing.

This would not do. She needed to get to the bottom of this—feeling. Whatever it was.

Huffing, she went over to remove the kettle from the stove, but her hand missed the handle and her finger tips grazed the side of the hot kettle.

“Damn!” Peggy stuck her finger in her mouth. If only Angie were here. She would

_Angie._

But of course.

Immediately Peggy felt a wave of calm; her mind quieted at the thought of Angie's smile. If she were here, she would take Peggy's face in her hands and kiss her, first on the lips and then on the nose, like she always did when Peggy had had a hard day. On particularly challenging evenings, Angie would take her into her arms and pepper her entire face with tiny soft kisses.

Peggy let out a shaky breath. Of course it was Angie that was missing. How had she come to rely on her so quickly?

Well that was nonsense. Peggy Carter relied on no one. She needed no one.

Except. What was that Jarvis had told her a few years ago? Even Captain America—her Steve—couldn't do it on his own.

Reaching into a cabinet, she pulled out a cup and poured herself some tea. But before the cup even reached her lips, she had made up her mind. She glanced at the clock: 11:45. Angie would most likely still be at her friend's club in Bronzeville. If Peggy hurried, she could still catch her.

 

**Sunday—Angie**

_ 12:15am _

“Fred, you were fantastic! I loved the new song!” Angie was gushing but she meant every word. Fred was such a talented performer, and his dancing in high heels was flawless.

Millie had joined the group midway through the performance, and everyone had descended upon her and Deborah after the show, peppering the couple with questions.

Fred walked over to Angie and took her hand, pulling her a little away from the group. “How're you doin', little miss? I haven't seen you in a little while.” Angie smiled and held onto his hand. “I'm fine. Tell me about you. How's work? How're things at the store?” He shrugged playfully. “The way they always are,” he said with a shrug. “Except business really started picking up in the department after my boss implemented by display ideas. Not that I got any credit,” he added, with a slightly bitter tone.

Angie sighed. “I'm sorry, honey. That's not fair. Can you do anything about it?” Fred looked at her with a smile. “You know I can't, honey.” He waved a hand. “But it ain't like it's never happened before. I'm more concerned with other things anyhow.” Angie stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “Is it true what Deborah told me? That a man came up to your counter and threatened you--”

Fred rolled his eyes. “Deborah exaggerates, honey. It was nothing. Nothing to worry about.” He nudged her in the ribs. “So what do you think of this Millie? You like her?” Angie nodded. “I do. I don't know if she's completely...sure of herself yet. But she loves Deborah, I'm sure of that.”

He looked thoughtful. “She does seem to be very fond of my cousin. You think Deborah feels the same way?” Angie grinned. “I think she does. Fred, when Millie came over the first time, Deborah was so nervous. It was the cutest thing I ever saw.” Fred shifted his weight, looking over at Deborah skeptically. “I suppose that's good. But it can't last, you know what. Do you think Deborah knows?”

Angie sighed, as if all the world's problems would be solved if she could only exhale deeply enough. “She knows. I think she just—hopes.” The dark skinned man shook his head sadly, mouth quirking.

“Keep an eye on her, Angie. It's been a long, long time since she's been in love, and I just don't want her to get her heart broke. Promise me.”

Angie promised.

Around 12:30, they decided to head to Joe's for the late night, half price drinks. They group of them poured out of Cabin Inn, laughing and talking; Angie was almost completely happy, except for a tiny twinge in her chest and the constant whisper in her mind of  _Peggy, Peggy, Peggy._

But then she was there.

In the flesh, looking slightly nervous but very beautiful in her plum coloured dress, clutching her handbag with both hands. Angie stopped in her tracks, staring.

“Peggy?” Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you had work!” Peggy looked at her feet. “I know. And I did. But—but I--” she glanced up and back to the ground. “I got home and it wasn't, wasn't right without you. Somehow.” She took a breath. “And so I...I came to find you.” Peggy looked up finally, eyes full of trepidation and something Angie couldn't quite name.

“I'm glad you came,” she said softly, stepping towards Peggy and taking her hand. “You look beautiful.” Peggy kissed her gently. “And you look lovely.” Angie felt herself beaming but she couldn't do anything about it. Nor did she want to.

“Would you like to meet my friends?” Peggy smiled and nodded. “I'd love to.”

Angie took her hand and led her to where her friends had been trying not to stare. "Everyone, this is Peggy," Angie announced, shyly, and they all swarmed around. "Good god, Angie, where on earth did you find her?" Esther gasped. "You have a  _perfect_ face," she said to Peggy, with authority. Peggy laughed a little. "You're far too kind. But thank you." Deborah greeted Peggy warmly. "It's so nice that you came out," she said. "Angie's been talking about you nonstop," Isabel piped up. Peggy looked over at Angie, and squeezed her hand. "Only good things, I hope."

"We were heading to grab a few drinks, Peggy. Won't you join us?" Deborah offered, and Peggy nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

Angie would not let go of Peggy's hand.

 

**Sunday—Peggy**

_ 1:01am _

Despite being more boisterous than Peggy was used to, Angie's friends were quite fun. She could tell they were a tight-knit group, but they welcomed her with open arms. It was only right that someone as wonderful as Angie would have a wonderful group of friends as well.

After the second round, Peggy suddenly felt a hand on her knee. She turned to look at Angie, but she was laughing at something Esther was saying and appeared to be unaware of her hands.

But appearances were deceiving. Her hand was moving ever so slowly up Peggy's leg to her thigh, and the further up in went the hotter Peggy's face and arms became. Now Angie's hand was squeezing and rubbing, traveling still further up Peggy's thigh, and Peggy was afraid she would react. Just as she thought she would choke, Angie turned to her, caught her eyes, and held her gaze. Peggy felt her mouth fall open but no words came; Angie's eyes dropped to Peggy's chest and then raked slowly upward, flicking from her eyes to her lips and back again.

Just as suddenly as she'd begun, she turned her attention away from Peggy and back to the table, and Peggy thought it was over.

She'd never been more wrong.

Angie's hand snaked into Peggy's lap, grabbed Peggy's hand, and pulled it into her own lap, placing it on her thigh. Peggy felt feverish, but Angie wasn't done. Leaving Peggy's hand in her own lap, she slid her own hand into the small of Peggy's back, rubbing a heated pattern into the crevice. When she moved her hand down to Peggy's hip and squeezed, Peggy decided she'd had enough.

Pretending to reach for her drink, she instead leaned over until she could whisper into Angie's ear. “Come home with me tonight,” she requested simply, licking Angie's earlobe surreptitiously. Angie shivered deeply.

“Um, everyone? Peggy and I are going to call it a night,” she announced, rising from the table, still holding Peggy's hand. Peggy smiled at Angie's friends. “So wonderful to meet you all,” she said. She started to shake hands, but Angie was already pulling her away from the table and towards the door. The small woman was stronger than she looked.

When they got outside, Angie pulled Peggy under a nearby street lamp and looked her full in the face. “When you asked me to come home with you just now, what did you mean?”

Peggy loved (alright, this was starting to be troubling), cared very deeply for Angie, but she could be oblivious sometimes.

In lieu of an answer, Peggy grabbed Angie's face, perhaps a bit more roughly than she'd intended to, and kissed her, hard and deep and long. When they broke apart, Angie's eyes were bright and darker than Peggy had ever seen them. “Take me home right now,” she very nearly growled, and Peggy hastened to obey.

 

** Sunday—Angie & Peggy **

_ 1:38am _

The cab ride to Peggy's apartment was the longest Angie had ever taken. The cabbie seemed in no rush to get them to their destination, completely unaware of how dire Angie's need was to be alone with Peggy. He had the gall to try and make small talk with them, and Peggy was politely engaging him in conversation, despite Angie's wandering hands.

When they'd finally arrived at Peggy's building, Angie sprang out of the car, racing to Peggy's side and bouncing from foot to foot as Peggy paid the driver, finishing their conversation. For a split second, Angie knew she was capable of causing grievous physical harm.

Finally, Peggy bade the man good night, and Angie grabbed her hand, nearly dragged her up the stairs.

At 3E, Peggy fumbled with her keys, and Angie, so impatient she thought she might die, grabbed the keys from Peggy's hand and unlocked the door herself, pulling Peggy in after her. She pushed Peggy against the door, kissing her with a desperation that felt new and yet somehow natural.

They finally broke apart, breathing hard, though Angie never took her hands off of Peggy's waist. “Would you like some tea?” Peggy asked softly, but Angie shook her head, fingers playing with the zipper at the back of Peggy's dress. She kissed Peggy again, hands finding hips and squeezing. She slid her thigh between Peggy's legs and was rewarded by a high, breathy moan. “Wh-what about some water?” Peggy managed to squeeze out. Angie ignored this, choosing instead to cup Peggy's breasts and kiss her way down Peggy's neck.

“Are you h-hungry at all?” Angie's hands were making their way lower, grazing Peggy's knickers. “I can only think of one thing I want to eat currently,” she said, giggling. Peggy snorted unceremoniously. “Why, Angela Martinelli, you little minx!” Angie grinned broadly. “Oh you loved it, Peggy Carter.”

Peggy captured her lips. “Mmhmm, I did,” she said between kisses. “Thought so,” Angie replied. But Peggy pulled back again. “You're quite sure you want to—do this? I don't wish to pressure you. We can stop--” Her eyes looked searchingly into Angie's face. Angie stroked her cheek with her fingers.

“Of course I want this. I want  _you_ , Pegs.” Peggy smiled and kissed Angie's fingertips. “I want you, too.” They looked at each other for a moment, almost shyly. Angie wondered briefly if she should tell Peggy she loved her.

She had no way of knowing that Peggy was wondering the same thing.

“So here's what's going to happen,” Angie said, taking Peggy's hands in hers, completely unable to keep her hands off of Peggy's body any longer. “You, Margaret Carter, are going to stop talking, and then, if you let me, I will proceed to remove every stitch of your clothing and then...” She trailed off, kissing Peggy's palm and up her wrist. Peggy watched her, regarding her carefully, something like a cobra, her eyes dark and hooded, her lip between her teeth.

Without warning, she seemed to make up her mind. She surged forward, lifting Angie up and into her arms; in a single fluid motion she had rounded them, pushing Angie up against the wall. Angie, feeling feral and alive, wrapped her legs tightly around Peggy's waist, pulling Peggy as close as she could, and licked her way deeper into Peggy's mouth. Peggy's hands searched for and found Angie's rear, slipping under Angie's knickers to make contact with her soft skin.

Peggy found the snaps of Angie's garter belt and undid them with effortless motion, grinding her hips against Angie's center, which was quickly growing hot and damp. Angie pulled down the zipper of Peggy's dress as far as she could reach, pushing the material aside, grasping at shoulders and bra straps.

Still not enough. Angie leaned over to whisper in Peggy's ear, “Put me down, please,” and when she did, Angie resumed her prior quest, pulling Peggy's dress from every curve it hugged and letting it fall unnoticed to the floor. Peggy busied herself unbuttoning the buttons of Angie's blouse, fingers fluttering over her breasts, collarbone and abdomen, before unzipping Angie's skirt and smoothing it off of her rear until it slipped to the floor. Bending down, clad only in her undergarments, she began rolling Angie's stockings down, laying them gently on the floor. She then removed Angie's garter belt and girdle, pulling them off slowly, leaving kisses and hot breath in her wake. Angie was left in only her knickers and bandeau bra, quivering, body buzzing with want.

“Pink satin was, without a doubt, made for your body, darling,” Peggy whispered, staring at Angie appreciatively and hungrily. She traced the outline of Angie's bust with relish, fingers crawling like spiders to the back of the lingerie, undoing the hook and eyes, and pulling off the garment as if removing a precious shroud. Angie let out a shaky breath as Peggy regarded her, bringing her hands up to cup Angie's breasts, lips on her neck. Peggy brushed a thumb over a nipple, sending a jolt went from Angie's spine to her center. With a cat-like grin, Peggy took the same nipple into her mouth and sucked, flicking her tongue back and forth over the nub as if it were candy, her other hand palming and squeezing Angie's other breast. Angie gasped, squirming in Peggy's hands, burying her fingers in Peggy's hair to pull her closer.

From somewhere, Angie found the presence of mind to gently guide Peggy's head back up to eye level. “You're still wearing too much,” she said, her voice a low purr, “I want to see you. And  _feel_ you.” She mapped the expanse of Peggy's abdomen with her hands, before pulling her closer and leaning forward to nibble on her earlobe. “And taste you,” she whispered directly into Peggy's ear. Peggy whimpered loudly and her body trembled under Angie's hands as Angie made quick work of removing the garter, girdle, and stockings.

Likewise, Angie unhooked Peggy's bra smoothly with one hand and threw it to the floor. Peggy looked impressed. “You really know what you're doing,” she breathed. Angie winked. “You better believe I do, honey.” But the sight of Peggy's naked breasts, on display right in front of her, took her cockiness down a few notches, and she took a moment to fully stare, almost gawk, at them. They were even more beautiful than she'd fantasized; they were surely the most perfect pair of breasts she had ever seen.

Peggy looked smug. “Enjoying the view, are you?” she smirked, an eyebrow lifted, archly. Briefly unable to form words, Angie stepped forward almost reverently, and took Peggy's breasts into her hands, cupping and squeezing. She rolled one nipple between her thumb and index finger roughly, while mouthing over the other, sucking, licking. Peggy shuddered mightily, and desire pooled low in Angie's belly.

She turned her attention to the last thing standing in the way of Peggy's total nakedness, sliding her hand in between Peggy's legs, cupping Peggy's heat through her knickers. They were completely soaked.

“You seem like you're ready for me, Miss Carter.” Angie's grin was broad and wicked. Peggy groaned her agreement, and Angie sank to her knees. A glance up at Peggy, her eyes shut, head thrown back, body taut, gave her an idea. Placing her hands on the backs of Peggy's thighs, she reached up with her mouth and began dragging Peggy's knickers down with her teeth, stopping every second to blow hot breath between her legs.

Peggy's noises were high and tight. “Angie—s-stop being...s-such a tease,” she ground out from between her teeth. After pressing kisses to Peggy's inner thighs, Angie stood up until she was flush with Peggy, rubbing against her. She kissed her sweetly. “Alright, but you're gonna have to ask nicely.” Peggy's eyes slid open. “What do you—”

Angie stepped back slightly until they were only centimeters apart, mischief written all over her face. “I mean,” she drawled against Peggy's mouth, “Say please.”

The look on Peggy's face, of slight shock mixed with unabashed desire, nearly took the wind out of Angie's sails. She hadn't been completely serious, but now that she knew Peggy was into it...

Peggy licked her lips, eyes dark. “Angie,” she said, voice low and rough. “Please...” She pulled Angie to her roughly. “Fuck...” She took one of Angie's hands and placed it on her breast. “Me...” Here she took Angie's other hand and guided it back between her legs. “ _Now,_ ” she punctuated the word with a soft growl into Angie's ear.

Angie needed no more encouragement. She grabbed Peggy's hand and dragged her into the bedroom, pushing her down onto the bed. After wiggling out of her own knickers, she paused a moment to consider. She could hardly believe her luck. This beautiful woman was waiting for  _her_ .

It was almost enough for her to start believing in God again, in earnest, and she almost crossed herself out of habit. She opted instead to crawl into the bed, draping her body over Peggy's and kissing her, languid and deep. Peggy's hands splayed down her spine, scratching lightly, to settle on her hips. “God, Peggy, you're beautiful,” came out of her mouth, like a prayer, as she kissed her way down Peggy's chest. She paused to kiss Peggy's adorable bellybutton, licking down her lower abdomen. Peggy's skin was so soft everywhere, downy and warm.

Her left hand dipped gently into Peggy's mass of tight, dark curls, parting and entering her wet lips. She slid a single finger over them, and Peggy let out something akin to a muffled squeal. Encouraged, Angie massaged Peggy's clit with her fingertips, placing kisses on her stomach.

“Jesus, you're so wet,” she marveled, dipping her head down to circle Peggy's clit with her tongue. Peggy cried out, back arching, her hips completely left the bed. Angie licked slow, wide licks across Peggy's sex, then sped up. She took it into her mouth, french kissing down low, dipping her tongue as deeply inside Peggy as she could. Peggy wrapped her legs around Angie's neck, swearing so loudly Angie was almost started.

“F-fucking hell, Angie,” Peggy was moaning now, her voice tattered and ragged. “That feels s...so good. Can you...m-more--?” Angie knew immediately what Peggy wanted, but she wanted to tease her again.

“What do you mean, Peg? Is this what you want?” she said, slipping a finger briefly inside Peggy and taking it out again, just as quickly. “Yes, Angie, god, yes--”

Angie crawled up until she was hovering over Peggy's lips, and she kissed her. “Well, you know what I said, Peggy. You'll have to ask nicely.” Angie skated her fingers across Peggy's clit again, causing Peggy to wriggle.

“Please, Angie. Please,” Peggy's voice came out in a whine, pleading without shame. Angie grinned. “Hmm, I can't quite hear you, English,” she teased, swiping her tongue across Peggy's clit once more. “Please...” Peggy whimpered. “Please.” Satisfied, Angie, slipped two fingers inside Peggy where she was was hot and waiting, stroking hard and fast until Peggy came with a scream, her orgasm reverberating off the walls.

Peggy fell back against the pillows, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, lips bare, legs spread. Angie had never seen anything more beautiful.

She collapsed on top of Peggy, pressing kisses to her chick and rubbing her stomach. “You okay, English?” She felt Peggy kiss the top of her head, and her chuckle echoed in her chest. “Angie, you're amazing.” Peggy's arms encircled her, rubbing her back, and Angie snuggled into her chest.

“But don't think you're going to get away with all that teasing you did, you little vixen.” Suddenly, Peggy was on top of her, tickling her within an inch of her life. Angie wriggled and squirmed, laughing, but Peggy settled her full weight on top of her, and pinned Angie's wrists above her head so she couldn't escape.

“Who has the power now, darling?” Peggy purred into Angie's ear, sliding a hand down Angie's heaving chest, pinching a nipple with her free hand. Angie, still breathing hard from the laughing, almost choked on her own breath.

But then Angie felt her hands come to life; she threaded them through Peggy's hair and pulled her back up to face level. Peggy came willingly, dipping her tongue into Angie's mouth and sucking hard on her bottom lip, squeezing Angie's breast. She broke the kiss to take Angie's nipple into her mouth, biting and then sucking the pain away with her lips.

Angie almost came just from that. As it was, she felt herself slipping, falling fast. Peggy parted Angie's legs, cracking them open like a ripe melon to reveal Angie's dripping wet center. She licking her lips. Angie shuddered and tried to hold on but

...the moment Peggy's mouth made contact with Angie's sex, Angie knew it would be over soon. And it was. She rolled her hips, willing Peggy to go harder; Peggy's tongue, a true revelation, worked quickly but effectively. When she wrapped her lips around Angie's clit and bit down, Angie let go completely and felt her orgasm rush over her in waves.

Peggy surfaced with a smile, pushing hair out of her faith, her mouth covered in Angie. With a gentle sigh, she laid down on top of Angie and kissed her deeply. Angie tasted herself on Peggy's tongue and felt a tremor from top of her head to the tips of her toes.

They didn't speak for awhile, content to tangle their limbs together and catch their breath. Peggy rolled over onto her side so she was facing Angie, but kept their legs entwined. She reached over and stroked the side of Angie's face. She seemed wistful.

“What are you thinking about?” Angie asked softly, kissing her palm. Peggy was quiet for a moment, closing her eyes. “Nothing,” she said, finally. “Nothing...really.” Angie kissed her chin. “Peg, you know you can tell me anything, right? You know that?” Peggy nodded slowly. Angie expected her to look away, but she didn't; she was gazing steadily into Angie's eyes, like she was trying to figure her out.

“I just—wasn't expecting you. This. Here,” Peggy said quietly. “When I left New York I was so burned out and empty and I didn't...” She trailed off. Angie still said nothing, taking Peggy's hand in hers.

“I thought it would be the most rational thing to be alone. Especially after—all that happened. But then I met you, Angie. And now--” Angie's heart was in her throat. “And now,” she prompted, gently. Peggy took a breath. “And now...I don't know why I ever thought I'd be better off alone,” she finished, her breath barely above a whisper.

This was the most vulnerable Peggy had ever been around her, even more than she'd been when she'd told her about Steve, and Angie didn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she pulled Peggy's face to her and kissed her for a long time. Then Peggy broke the kiss, rolled on top of her.

“Hey, Angie?” Angie looked up with a smile.

“Yeah, English?”

Peggy looked into her eyes for a long moment, stroking her hair. “I...that is--” But then she cleared her throat. “Nothing, nevermind,” she said quickly, rolling back onto the bed. Deciding not to push it, Angie snuggled just under Peggy's chin. She wrapped her arms about Peggy's waist, and blinked butterfly kisses into her neck. She felt herself drifting off; what time must it be?

“Hey, English?” she murmured sleepily. Peggy breathed a kiss into her hair. “Yes, Angie?”

“Me, too.” Peggy froze for a moment; Angie felt her heartbeat. But she simply said, “Good night, Angie,” and Angie heard no more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is the sex chapter, it's the only one that you will get in this story, sadly. As you can tell, I suck at writing erotica, but I thought it should be included in my story at least once.
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> -As mentioned way back in the beginning, all Bronzeville club names are real. If you haven't already looked up Bronzeville, do yourself a favor and google it. Take a few minutes to learn about a fascinating side of lgbtq history!  
> -As I'm sure you can all tell, I know JACK SHIT about marvel or the ssr or any of that. That's why I don't go into a lot of detail about Peggy's job. However, I can tell you that famed scientist and Nobel Prize Winner Enrico Fermi did indeed live and work in Chicago during this time, and from what I've seen of Peggy I think she'd be comfortable around scientists  
> -An interesting fact: many of the clerks in the department stores of Chicago's Loop area were lgbtq/poc. Like Fred in my story, they faced discrimination but it was a way of life  
> -Historically accurate underwear! Thanks to this helpful article (http://www.vintagedancer.com/1940s/1940s-lingerie-history/)
> 
> Finally: only a few chapters left and I want to say thanks to everyone who's read and commented. I've had fun (mostly) writing this and I'm so pleased you're enjoying it.
> 
> Comments welcome here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and weird fluff. Takes place over a two week period.

One of Angie’s best traits was her adaptability. Since childhood, she had been able to accustom herself to nearly anything, given the time. Her parents would say she got attached too easily, but Angie never fully agreed with that. Instead, she liked to think she was simply more open and accepting of change than the average person.

When her oldest sister, Sara, was pregnant with Angie’s oldest niece Abigail, Angie was quickly dissatisfied with the canceled dates and dropped outings. But the moment she laid eyes on the chubby, dark haired baby, she quickly forgot her discontent, and the joy of holding the almost unbelievably sweet Abigail completely swallowed up any lingering resentment. As the nieces and nephews continued to appear, Angie almost couldn’t remember what life was like before.

After her first trip to Bronzeville years ago, she had never returned to Towertown; the jazzy, heady melting plot erased every memory of sleek, sophisticated, exclusive Towertown. She never looked back.  And after befriending Deborah, she had almost immediately come to adore and rely on her in a way she never had with anyone, outside of Lucia and Angelo; within weeks Deborah was the most important person in Angie’s life.

Now, opening her eyes to the dappled sunlight slipping in from behind the thick curtains, she added ‘Waking up next to Peggy Carter’ to the list of things she’d become immediately accustomed to.

She groggily blinked her eyes open to find Peggy gazing at her with subdued disbelief and muted pleasure, her fingers softly stroking Angie’s hair. Angie made a satisfied noise and kissed Peggy’s chin. “Hey, English,” she said, burying her face on Peggy’s breast. She felt Peggy’s chest rise and fall, her ears picked up the strong beat of Peggy’s heart. Angie was completely satisfied.

“Good morning, darling,” Peggy hummed into her hair, her arms warm around Angie’s waist. With a smooth motion she rolled so that she was halfway draped over Angie, and Angie couldn’t help but beam up at her. Peggy ran her fingers lightly over Angie’s face, eyes dancing.

“I can’t conceive of anything more beautiful to wake up to than your smile,” Peggy said with a shy suddenness. Angie suspected she hadn’t quite meant to speak this thought out loud, and the adorable pink blush on Peggy’s cheeks lent further credence to the theory. “Did you sleep well?” She asked quickly, ducking her head slightly.

In lieu of an answer, Angie wrapped her arms loosely around Peggy’s neck, pulling her down gently, and Peggy leaned in to meet her lips, hand sliding behind Angie’s shoulders. Suddenly, Angie broke the kiss with a squeak, wriggling out from under Peggy and halfway out of the bed. Peggy’s eyes followed her with confusion. “Angie? What are you--”

“I have horrible morning breath!” Angie cried, hiding her face and scrambling toward the door. But Peggy sat up and caught her wrist, pulling her gently over and guiding Angie until she was standing in between Peggy’s parted legs. Peggy took Angie’s hands in hers and kissed her fingers.

“I should brush my teeth,” Angie murmured, eyes flicking to Peggy’s breasts and then down to the floor. Peggy kissed her palms. “Do whatever you feel you must, but don’t think for a moment I care one whit about your morning breath. I don’t.” Angie knew her face was reflecting her unbelief, and Peggy’s hands moved to her elbows, inching her closer.

“I want to know the real you, Angie. That includes your morning breath, your weird birthmarks, the snoring, all of it. You’re beautiful, regardless.” Peggy tilted her head slightly, looking up at her with something like reverence. “You’re truly so lovely.”

Angie blinked and swallowed hard. If she didn’t proceed with extreme caution in the next few moments, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from blurting out those words, the words that were right this very minute dancing across her tongue, desperate to be released. She closed her eyes.

Peggy pulled her closer, wrapping her legs around Angie’s knees, and peppered tiny kisses to Angie’s abdomen. “So what do you say? Can I kiss you?” Peggy breathed the words, hot and wet, against Angie’s skin, hands sliding down to palm her hips, and Angie felt a rush of something hot and intense in her chest.

She climbed fully into Peggy’s lap with a whimper, and Peggy stood up just long enough to whirl Angie around and position her in her arms, before pushing her backwards into the bed and devouring her mouth. Angie’s arms again found their place around Peggy’s neck. They didn’t leave the bed until the sun was out in full force.

 

 

 

When they finally crawled out of bed, they were both ravenous. Angie followed Peggy as she padded out to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. “What do you want me to make for breakfast?” Angie asked, opening cabinets and peering into the icebox “I’m afraid there’s not much here for you to work with for breakfast,” she said with a rueful laugh as Angie stuck her head into the pantry.

“Or for any other meal, looks like. Where’s all your food? Or don’t you cook?” Peggy smiled. “No, not really,” she admitted. Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “English, how do you survive? This won’t do at all.”

“Hey! I can cook, I’ll have you know. I just prefer not to. We aren’t all Italian, after all,” she said with a wink. Angie laughed and danced into Peggy’s arms. “I suppose that’s true.” She kissed Peggy again, reveling in newness of being able to do it whenever she wanted.

“How about this. Let’s have showers, then I’ll take you someplace nice for a late breakfast. How does that sound?” Angie kissed her nose. “That sounds just fine.”

They spent a leisurely Sunday walking around the city, stopping for food and coffee as the desire struck them. In the park, Angie stooped and picked three tiny wild daisies, surreptitiously slipping them behind Peggy’s ear when she was sure no one was looking. Peggy made a face and looked around them, telling Angie to be careful. But she smiled and left the flowers in her hair for the rest of the afternoon.

“So what are you going to do with yourself for two full weeks until the championships?” Peggy asked. They were sitting on a bench in the park, under a clump of red maple trees. They were careful not to sit too close, though Angie would occasionally toy with Peggy’s fingers briefly, to Peggy’s slight distress.

“Oh, I don’t know. Try to keep myself occupied, I suppose. With books and the radio and Deborah. And my girlfriend,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Provided you’re around,” she added, with a small shrug. Peggy nodded but looked away for a moment.

“I’m sure I can spare a little time for a girl as pretty as you,” she said with a smile when she looked back at Angie. There was a pleasant silence as they looked out into the park at the families, children playing, parents watching and talking.

“I hope I’m ready,” Angie broke the silence. Peggy glanced at her. “For the game, you mean?” Angie nodded. “I’m doin’ so much better than I was at the beginning of the season. With my nervousness an’ all. But, you know, I’m still a little...” She trailed off. “I never said thank you,” she added suddenly. Peggy looked at her quizzically. “Whatever for?” Angie smacked her own forehead. “How could I forget? For savin’ my ass, English. If you hadn’t been cheerin’ for me those first few weeks, I don’t know if I woulda made it. Why did you, anyway? You didn’t know even know me then.”

Peggy was quiet a moment. “I think I just wanted you to succeed,” she said, finally. “I know how it feels to be pressured, to lack self-confidence, and then to receive no support from those around you.” She paused. “I just didn’t want you to feel as if you had no one in your corner.”

 _I could say it right now,_  Angie thought. _I could just look at her and tell her I’m in love with her._

Angie thought back to the first game Peggy had attended and shivered. “Well, all I know is you showed up exactly when I needed you. You’ll be at the championships, right?” Peggy smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Finally, around 6pm, Angie knew she should head over to her parents’ house for family dinner and she told this to Peggy. She wondered if she should invite Peggy to dinner.

 _Nah, not this week._ She’d just met all of Angie’s friends the night before, and Angie didn’t want to pressure her. Angie suspected Peggy might be overwhelmed by too much, too fast.

“I should probably finish up some things for work this week,” Peggy said as they were standing just inside Angie’s place. “So I should go.” She buried her face briefly in Angie’s neck. “I’m so not looking forward to this week,” she sighed. Angie held her tight. “At least you can see me a whole bunch, if you want. Not like I’ll be doin’ much.”

Peggy smiled so brilliantly Angie was almost taken aback. “That’s true. And we can even go out as much as you’d like, since we’re still celebrating you making it to the championships.” Angie chuckled. “But you’re gonna have a busy week, honey. So maybe we’ll just stay in and cuddle on your couch.” Upon hearing this, Peggy took Angie’s face into her hands and kissed her soundly.

“Call me tonight,” she said, when they broke apart. Angie smiled and nodded without a word; sometimes kissing Peggy still left her breathless.

Peggy opened the door and winked. “Good night, darling.”

Angie spoke before she could stop herself. “Peggy, wait, I-” Peggy looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Angie?” Angie opened her mouth, but as quickly as the idea had come, her courage failed her.

“I’ll call you,” she said weakly. Peggy blew her a kiss and left. Angie slumped against the door, eyes closed and shoulders sagging. One day, the words were going to jump right out of her mouth and she’d be powerless to stop them.

“Was that Peggy?” Deborah rounded the corner, entering the living room and startling her. “I didn’t know you were here!” Angie said, walking over to give her a hug. Deborah smirked. “You didn’t come home last night, and now I see you’re wearin’ some of Peggy’s clothes. You two have a good night?” She waggled her eyebrows. Angie blushed deeply but laughed. “As a matter of fact, we did. We didn’t get out of bed until this mor--”

“No, no, no details, thank you very much!” Deborah protested, hands covering her ears. Angie laughed and gestured to their bedroom. “What about you and Millie? Once she got there you two were inseparable. Did she come over?” Deborah looked prim. “If you must know,” she said, smoothing her skirt, “She spent the night here.” Angie squealed and grabbed Deborah’s hands.

“Anyway,” Deborah said pointedly. “Have you by chance heard from Fred? We were supposed to have lunch, but he never showed, and there’s no answer at his place.” Angie turned and headed towards the bedroom. “No, but he’s probably just recovering from his weekend, right? He was pretty busy with the new show an’ all.” Deborah followed her,

looking uneasy. “Sure, but somethin’ doesn’t feel quite right to me.” Angie poked her. “Deborah, don’t turn this into one of your worry free-for-alls. I’m sure he’ll call.”

 

 

 

The first four days or so of Angie’s two week break for restful and relaxing. She slept in, she read, she listened to records and danced, she went for walks around the city, reveling in days without practice. She spent evenings at Peggy’s, and more often than not, slept there as well. All in all, life was pretty satisfactory.

“Would you get that, Angie?” Peggy called from the kitchen. “My hands are full.” The phone rang once, then three times, and then two, Angie knew it was someone she knew, and it would be safe for her to pick up Peggy’s phone. She walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver. “Peggy Carter’s residence,” she said brightly.

“Angie?” The voice was thick and muffled, and there was bustle in the background, but still Angie recognized it immediately. Her heart sped up. “Deborah? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Deborah huffed into the phone. “I’m--fine. It’s Fred. He’s in the hospital, Angie. He got beat up pretty bad about a week ago and I only happened to find out just now--”

Angie felt the air leak out of her lungs like a deflating balloon. _Oh, no. Oh, no._

“Where are you?” she demanded. “I’m at St. Christopher’s on the South Side. You know it’s the only place here that’ll treat Negroes.” Angie swallowed something that was probably a sob. “Deborah, I’m on my way right now, alright? Everything’s going to be fine.” But her hands shook as she set down the receiver. Peggy looked up, concern written on her face. “Angie, what is it?”

Angie slipped on her shoes. “Fred was attacked and he’s in the hospital,” she said tersely. “I’m heading over now.” Peggy hurried over. “Oh my word, that’s terrible. Would you like me to come with you, darling?” Angie paused, looking up at her. “It’s not--you don’t have to. I know you had a long day, well, week really, and you’re probably--”

But Peggy was already toeing on her shoes. “I’m coming. At least I’ll ride over there with you.” Angie nodded gratefully and they headed to catch a cab. But the first two drivers they flagged down flat out refused to drive to South Side at night; after ten minutes, Angie was shaking with anger. “Just because it’s a poor area doesn’t mean everyone there is a criminal!” she shouted after a third driver drove off.

Peggy grabbed her hand. “We’ll find someone,” she said reassuringly. “I promise the next one will take us, or I’m not Peggy Carter.”

And indeed, though the next cab driver that stopped was at first similarly uninterested, but Angie’s promise to double his fare and a veiled threat from Peggy persuaded him to change his tune. Angie was quiet on the fifteen minute drive, her mind chaotic with worry, her knees bouncing up and down, up and down. Peggy held onto her hand, brushing her thumb back and forth across the back of her hand.

Upon arriving at the hospital, a slightly rundown, nondescript looking brick building surrounded by sad trees and sagging shrubbery, Angie jumped out of the cab and ran inside. The receptionist at the desk was a thin, wiry brunette, and she looked curiously at Angie. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Fredrick Waters? He’s my brother well not really but he’s family and he’s here and I just heard and I need to see him,” she blurted, her words pouring out in a rush. The woman raised an eyebrow but proceeded to glance through the file folders on her desk. Peggy walked up behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back.

“Ah, yes, Waters. He’s here. Follow me, please.” Angie glanced at Peggy. “You--you don’t have to stay, Peg. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, and I know you’re tired.” Peggy shook her head. “Go. I’ll be here.” Angie tried to smile but failed, and instead turned to hurry after the receptionist. She couldn’t help but notice the condition of the building, almost as run down inside as it was outside, with its peeling paint and stained floors, but she couldn’t focus on it. She thought only of Fred.

They walked down a hallway with a flickering light, passing private rooms until they arrived at a large common room, with about 50 single, camp-style beds. The receptionist led them to a bed directly under a window. “The nurse should be by soon to speak with you,” she said. Angie thanked her and walked over to where Deborah sat in a folding chair, holding Fred’s hand. When she looked up and saw Angie, she stood up and fell into her arms. Angie held her tightly, wordlessly.

Finally Deborah let her go, and Angie turned her full attention to Fred. He was almost unrecognizable. His handsome face was cut and scraped badly, though starting to heal; his head was bandaged, and his left arm was in a sling. The bed sheets were rolled down to his waist, and there were bandages across his torso. Angie lifted the bottom of the sheets and saw cuts and gashes on his legs as well.

A nurse walked over, a neutral expression on her face. She explained what had happened: Fred had apparently been on his way to a show that past Sunday, when he was supposed to meet Deborah, and some rough looking men had attacked him as he’d gotten off a streetcar. They’d beaten him and left him in the street, where he’d been for who knows how long. A good samaritan had picked him and driven him to St. Christopher’s, where he’d been ever since.

He had a broken arm, sprained wrist, and two broken ribs, in addition to a deep gash on his head from where it had hit the curb. He had been in and out of consciousness for the better part of a week.

“How’s he doing, nurse?” Angie asked fearfully. “Could be worse, all things considered. The injuries are pretty bad, but it’s nothing he can’t beat, with time. Our main concern is the head injury, but the doctor will have to come talk to you about that. He’ll be by to make rounds in 45 minutes or so.” Nodding at Angie and Deborah, she bustled off to check on other patients.

Angie’s grip on Deborah tightened as the nurse walked away. “Why the hell did it take them so long to tell us about this? It’s been almost a week!” Angie said, indignation rising within her like a plant reached for the sun. Deborah made a sound in the back of her throat that was at once angry and weary.

“Because he was a colored man in makeup and a dress, going to the sketchy side of town, and no one cared about him. The same thing happened when Michael Barrows got jumped last year. They didn’t call his family, either. After he didn’t turned up for three days, his family called the police--who of course did nothing--and then visited all the hospitals until they found him here. That’s the same thing I did.” She grunted. “Well, I didn’t call the police. That woulda been a waste of time. I came straight here after I didn’t hear from him and none of his friends had seen him.”

Angie thought she might punch something, but instead took a deep breath to calm herself. “How long have you been here? Have you spoken with the doctor already?” Deborah shook her head. “I got here just after he finished his rounds.” She sank into the chair. “What are we gonna do, Angie? I don’t know how we’ll pay his bill, or take care of his rent...” Angie put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not think about that just yet. We’ll figure it out. Have you called his family?”

Deborah shook her head. “I was waitin’ for you. Kinda dreadin’ it, y’know?” Angie nodded. “Well, why don’t you go now? Use the phone in the waiting room.” Deborah sat for a moment, looking at Fred. “Alright.” She rose and Angie took her seat. “Oh, Deborah, Peggy’s out there. Will you tell her what’s going on, that we’re waiting for the doctor, and she can go home?”

Deborah looked impressed. “Stiff upper lip came to the South Side? Wow.” Angie nodded. “She was concerned. But make her go home, Deborah, alright? She had a hard week and she’s exhausted. You and I can handle it here.” She turned back to Fred, taking his smooth hand in hers. “I’m so sorry, Fred,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

A few minutes later, Deborah returned, eyes wet. “That was awful,”she said quietly. “Aunt Jackie is a mess. I’ll probably pay her a visit tomorrow. I don’t think she should see him like this. Not until he’s a bit better.” Angie nodded. “Good idea.” Standing up, she walked over to grab an empty folding chair and brought it back for Deborah. “Take a load off, honey.” Deborah nodded gratefully. “We should probably try and figure out what do next. He’s another few days here, but where will he go after? He can’t very well stay at his place alone.”

“He’ll stay with us,” Angie said matter-of-factly. “He can sleep on our sofa. I’ve got some time off before the championships, and I can watch him during the day.” Deborah nodded. “We’ll take turns. But what should be do about his rent? He may have some savings, but he’ll have to miss a lot of work.” Angie looked at Fred, silent and still in the bed next to them. “We’ll figure it out, honey.” Just then the nurse from before reappeared. “Visiting hours will be over in 10 minutes. You can come back any time tomorrow between 10am and 9pm.”

Deborah held onto Angie’s arm as they walked back out to the waiting room. “Let’s just get a cab,” Angie said. “I don’t want to have to take two buses tonight. Did Peggy leave?” Deborah nodded. “Yeah. She said she’ll call you later.”

After waiting a ridiculous amount of time for a cab to appear, they finally succeeded in hailing one. Deborah dozed off and Angie stared out of the window, watching the moon as it followed them back to the city.

Deborah was exhausted, leaning on Angie all the way up the five flights of stairs, but Angie didn’t mind. Upon opening the door, Angie noticed a light on in the kitchen. “You always forget to turn the lights off, Angie,” Deborah said, trudging inside. “I’m gonna start makin’ you pay more of the bill.”

But Angie hadn’t left the light on. There stood Peggy, fiddling with a kettle and tea cups, and small plates of food.

“Do forgive the intrusion, ladies,” she said, hurriedly. “I thought it might be nice for you to have a brief repast after your long evening. But I know you’re tired, so I won’t stay.”She walked over to Deborah and took her hands in hers. “I’m terribly sorry about Fred, dear. Do try and get some rest.” Deborah smiled her thanks and headed to the kitchen, and Peggy turned to Angie. “How did you get in?” Angie asked, incredulous but somehow not surprised. Peggy smiled a deceptive smile. “I may have borrowed your key,” she said, with a touch of mischief. “But it was in my--”

“Purse, yes. I lifted it, darling. It’s part of my skillset.” Angie giggled. “Part of your skillset is being a pickpocket?” Peggy laughed and kissed her temple. “I’m going to head home, but call me tomorrow, alright?” Angie grabbed her wrist and pulled her in for a kiss. “Thanks for comin’ with me today. And for the secret tea an’ snacks. You’re the best, Pegs.”Peggy rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s hardly true, but thanks, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Angie watched her go, willing herself not to call out after her. Not tonight.

 

 

 

“Angie, did Deborah tell you my mama will be coming by this evening?” It was some days after Fred had been released from to hospital to Angie and Deborah’s care, and after her days of casual revelry, Angie relished the opportunity to do some good. She’d fallen into a rhythm, waking moderately early to change Fred’s bandages and help him to the bathroom, and prepare his meals. He insisted on doing as much as he could for himself, but between Angie and Deborah, he rarely got his way.

This particular evening, Angie was changing the bandage around Fred’s torso, and she looked down as he made a face. “Is that good news or bad news, honey?” she asked. He shrugged his shoulders with some effort. “Depends on whether or not my father is in a good mood.”

Angie cocked her head. “Have you told your parents know what you do yet? I mean the drag part?” Fred laughed out loud, despite wincing in pain. “What do you think, girl? No. Every time you ask me the answer will be no. They think I’m a clerk at a department store downtown and can’t come to church on Sundays because I work the Saturday night shift. And I see no reason to disabuse them of that notion.”

He shifted his weight, and Angie scurried to grab another pillow to place behind him. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll figure it out after awhile, though? All they would have to do is go to the shop and see that it closes at 8.”

“True, but when will my parents, who aren’t getting any younger, going to traipse all the way to the Loop? And they’ll come to shop with what money?” Angie had to acknowledge his point. “Still a bit of a dangerous game, though, isn’t it?” She asked, patting his knee. He smiled. “Thrills are what make life worth living, honey.”

“Not too many thrills.” She gestured to his cast and bandages. “I’ve been worried sick about you,” she said softly. “Those thugs really did a number on you.” Fred soberly reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s gonna take a whole hell of a lot more than a pack of hateful white folk to bring me down. I promise you that. And I’ll be fine. I’ve always healed quickly, so I won’t be living on your couch for too much longer.”

Angie shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Fred. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to get completely better, and not a day sooner. Also, Deborah will be the one to decide when you’re ready to leave.” Fred groaned. “You and I both know she’ll never let me leave!”

Angie looked at the clock. “What time will they be here? Am I supposed to cook something?” She went through what she had readily available. “No, no, honey, they’re just coming to look at me. They’ll be around most likely around 8:00. My question is, where’s Deborah? I thought she got home at 7?” Angie furrowed her brow. It was 7:45.

“She should be home any minute. It’s not like her to be late, not without calling first.” She stood and walked over to the door, opening it and peering into the hallway. “Maybe she just got held up. You know the buses.”

But when Fred’s parents arrived at 8:15, Deborah had still not returned. Angie was just starting to worry--until she remembered, as Fred’s parents were walking in, that Deborah often worked late on Wednesdays. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief and invited them to sit.

Fred’s mother, Jackie, was a diminuitive yet imposing woman, with glowing skin and greying hair. She spoke with a gentle authority that seemed to assure and comfort Fred; she stroked his face and inspected his torso, clucking and tsking. Fred’s father, Charlie, was tall and thin, with a moustache and glasses; it seemed Fred was his spitting image, aside from the moustache. He looked a bit severe, and Angie was a little afraid of him. After a few greetings and updating them on their son’s condition, Angie decided to give them a little privacy and went to call Peggy.

“So what do you do, Miss Martinelli?” Charles boomed when she returned, his voice sonorous and deep. Angie jumped a little but hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. “Do you work at the store with Fred?”

“No, sir. I’m a professional baseball player, as a matter of fact.” Jackie looked up with a startled expression. “A ball player? And you’re a woman?” Angie was used to this kind of response. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered with a chuckle. “We’ve just finished our season and have championships at the end of next week.”

“Angie’s the most talented pitcher in the league is what I hear,” Fred piped up, reciting some of her stats. Charles looked impressed--as did Angie. She didn’t know Fred ever took an interest in her job.

“Well now, that’s somethin’ to be mighty proud of, young lady,” he rumbled, with a solemn nod of his head. Jackie hmphed but did not disagree.

After about an hour or so, Jackie and Charles took their leave. Charles shook Angie’s hand strongly. “Thanks for lookin’ after my son, miss,” he said, with a touch of his cap. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Waters.” Jackie then walked over and put her hands on Angie’s arms. “I can tell that you and me niece are takin’ good care of my boy. And I wanna thank you. But also,” she pulled Angie closer to her, “You two be careful. I got intuition, always have, and bad things like this always come in threes. Tell Deborah to burn some sage to ward off the evil eye, y’hear?” She pulled back. “And speakin’ of Deborah, you tell her I better see her face next time I come around this way. You take care, Miss Martinelli.”

Angie walked them to the door. “You too, Mrs. Waters. Good night.”

Fred laid back on the couch with a sigh. “How’d it go?” Angie asked him, putting the kettle on for tea. “Not too bad, all things considered. I think they’ve finally stopped asking me about finding a nice girl.” Angie smiled. “That is good.”

“Speaking of nice girls,” Fred said with a wink, “How’s that Peggy Carter?” Angie smiled. “Good. I talked to her while you were with your parents. She’s going to stop by tomorrow and see you.”

Just then, the door eased open. For a few moments, however, no one entered, and Angie walked over to investigate.

There stood Deborah, her face ashen, hair deflated, shoulders slumped. Angie let out a little cry and grabbed her, pulling her inside and slamming the door. “Deborah, honey, what’s wrong?” But Deborah was silent, shaking herself free of Angie’s hold and shuffling towards their bedroom. The door closed with a bang and Angie heard it lock. She threw a look over at Fred. This was not good. She’d never seen anything like this before.

Not from Deborah.

“What’s eating her?” Fred stage whispered. “You two have a fight or something? She mad at you?” Angie shook her head. “She hugged me before she left this morning, so I don’t think so.” She paused. “She was supposed to see Millie today...” Her stomach dropped. “Fred, do you think something happened with Millie?”

Fred pinched the bridge of his nose. “Angie, I knew it. I told her--”

But Angie was already on her way to the bedroom. She knocked on the door lightly. “Deborah, honey, it’s me. Let me in.” There was no answer, and Angie knocked again. “Honey, please. Talk to me.”

After a moment, the door unlocked, and Angie gently pushed it open. Deborah was in a heap against her bed, staring straight ahead, unblinking. Angie closed the door behind her and walked over to Deborah, sitting down beside her but not touching her.

“You got home pretty late. And you didn’t call.”

Silence.

“Did something happen at work today? Or on the way back home?”

Silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Silence.

And then a blink, and a minuscule nod, and a whisper so low Angie very nearly missed it.

“Millie and I are done.” Angie blinked, turning to look at Deborah, who was still staring straight ahead.

“What--” Deborah finally turned to look at Angie, pain and heartbreak written so clearly over her face it winded Angie. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, and when the tears began sliding down Deborah’s face, tears sprung up in Angie’s eyes, as well.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, taking Deborah into her arms. “What happened?” Deborah just shook her head and buried her face in Angie’s chest, sobs clawing their way out of her as if they were ripping her apart.

Angie held Deborah for what seemed like hours but could have been any length of time; time had stopped and it was only the two of them, huddled together, bonded in pain. Angie thought back to two, nearly three years ago when their positions had been reversed, when the loss of Angelo was still fresh in her own heart and mind. Deborah had held her much like this on many occasions, but Angie had always wished that Deborah would never need to cry like this.

Over time, the story fell out of Deborah. It seemed Mr. V had returned unannounced on Saturday evening, and had nearly blown a gasket when Millie had not returned until Sunday morning. He had met her at the door, livid, and had hailed the cab driver that had driven her home, demanding the man tell him where he’d picked Millie up. Apparently the man had refused, driving away before Mr. V could accost him, and Mr. V had spent three days grilling her until she’d cracked. She said she’d been in Bronzeville, but wouldn’t say with whom.

Mr. V was of course no fool. He knew what kind of people frequented Bronzeville, and he had told Millie she had a choice to make. She could either get on the next train to a convent in upstate New York, or she could renounce what she was doing (as he termed it) and become engaged to J. Reginald Stanton, the son of a business partner of Mr. V’s, and a young man who had been angling for Millie for some time.

It was that, or she would lose her part of the V inheritance, a hugely substantial sum, and be completely renounced and disowned.

“It’s a devil’s decision,” Deborah whispered. “Damned if she does, damned if she don’t.” Angie dreaded the answer of her next question, but it had to be asked. “What did she choose?”

“What do you think, Angie? She’s going to marry Stanton. She’d have to be a fool to make any other choice.”

Angie didn’t know what to say. No one was or could be surprised by this turn of events, least of all Deborah, she knew. But it didn’t make the situation any more palatable.

“I was so stupid. So stupid,” Deborah hissed. “Fred told me to be careful but I...” Her voice evaporated like steam, and Angie held her tighter.. “We’ll get through this,” was all she could say. “We’ll get through this, honey. Believe me, we will.”

Over the next days, Angie felt she had lived 10 years. Fred was making strides, but her heart absolutely broke for Deborah. Outwardly, she appeared the same, at least to the casual onlooker. But though she remained practical and funny, her jokes and teasing seemed strained sometimes. Other times it was as if she was just going through the motions. She zoned out, she blanked on simple answers. She was apologetic in a way she had patently refused to be ever since the day Angie had met her. She still listened to Billie Holiday but it had been days since she’d sung along.

It was unfair, so unfair. Not only what Deborah was going through, but the fact that Angie was totally powerless to help. Angie had paid Fred’s hospital bills with her bonus, but she couldn’t bring the smile back to Deborah’s face. Deborah was the kindest, most generous person Angie had ever known, and Angie would do anything in her power to help her. Deborah insisted on going to work as normal, and so Angie got up early, making her tea and breakfast, and had dinner waiting when Deborah arrived home in the evenings. She left chocolates and treats around the apartment for Deborah to find, and Fred would sing and hold her hand in the evenings.

But healing Deborah’s broken heart remained out of Angie’s reach.

 

 

 

As much as Angie desperately didn’t want it to be the case, she was dismayed to realize how much Deborah and Fred’s situations were affecting her. She had hoped the two weeks before the championship would be an empowering and strengthening time for her nerves--Deborah was a deep well of encouragement and support--and yet it had proven to be the exact opposite.

“I feel so selfish,” she said one evening, frustration painting her face as she and Peggy sat on Peggy’s couch after work. “Here my best friends hare having it worse than me--Fred still can’t walk well or breathe without pain, and Deborah’s had her heart broken, but all I can think about tonight is will I be able to pitch in the championship game. I’m heartless. Do you think I’m heartless, Peg?”

Peggy made a disapproving noise. “Don’t be ridiculous, Angie. You’re waiting on Fred hand and foot, you’ve paid his hospital bills, you cook for Deborah every night. Those are hardly the actions of someone heartless. You’re allowed to have your own problems.”

Angie shifted her position. “I think I’m going to stop by St. Mark’s tonight, try and get my head together. Can I beg off from our date tonight? I just need some quiet.” Peggy leaned over and enveloped Angie in her arms. “Of course, darling. And do try to get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Angie’s mind was full as she rode the bus into the city. This would be the first time she’d been to church in a few weeks, and the first time in years she’d come completely on her own, unforced by her mother or family events. Besides the fact that her faith had all but dissipated, it reminded her too much of Angelo.

Before Angelo had left to fight in the war, he and Angie had often discussed where they should tell their parents about themselves, their preferences for the same gender. Angelo had staunchly believed it would be a terrible idea, and every conversation ended the same way. "Do you really think Papa would be pleased that his son is a queer?" he would say, shoulders sagging. Angie would let out a sigh. "No. But Mama would understand. I know she would." Angelo would shrug and look away. "Maybe. But we'd have to stop attending Mass, you know."

That part had never seemed to difficult for Angie to imagine, but for Angelo, it would be heartbreaking. He had been drawn from an early age to the church, finding beauty in its rituals and tradition, finding solace and comfort in the prayers and incense. In early teenage years, he had once spoken of becoming a priest, an idea which their father had quickly and immediately vetoed. "A real man needs a real job," he would say, banging a fist on the table, and then tell him again that his place was in the family auto shop.

Angelo never spoke of it again, but Angie knew it had hurt him deeply. In one of his final letters to her, he had written again of his desire. Even amidst the devastation and slaughter, his faith had never shaken. Angie had never tried to parse Angelo's seemingly paradoxical desires; she didn't know how he could be loyal to a church who told him that who he was was a sin, an abomination. Her heart would break when he confided in her about experiences he'd have with boys at school or from church, and his almost immediate regimen afterwards of self-flagellation and penance. As he got older, he no longer felt as condemned, but there was still a struggle within. As much as he longed for love and a family of his own, he yearned to be accepted by the church and by God; as much as he dreamed of becoming a priest, he dreamed more of finding a love of his own.

As Angie grew older, she was surprised to find herself still invested in the church, as well. Her ideas of God had changed and grown; after the war and the loss of Angelo she was no longer sure she even wanted to believe. Her trips to the confession booth grew more and more infrequent, though that had been happening since she was 15 and had confessed to Father James that she'd kissed a girl for the first time. He had prescribed many, many prayers, encouraging her that change was possible. Angie had prayed them fervently, day after day. But after a year had passed without even a semblance of difference within, Angie knew it was futile. She couldn't change who she was. So she instead would simply do penance after every girl kissed; double if it went further than kissing. No need to speak to Father James about it again.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't completely the shake the cloak of catholicism from her shoulders; she often felt she could no easier leave the church than she could her own family. Truth be told, she no longer wanted to leave, not fully. She didn't attend Mass as regularly, maybe once every few months, but when she went, she immersed herself in the music and the smells, the serenity and the quiet, even the bowing and sitting. Outside of the bench by the river downtown, she felt Angelo's presence most strongly sitting in the hard wooden pews, staring reverentially at the beautiful stained glass windows.

And tonight, she could think of no better place to sort out her thoughts and find solace. The church felt smaller and almost cozy at night, despite having the chilly air found in cathedrals. She dipped her hand in the basin of holy water and crossed herself, walking slowly to the front. Reverentially, she picked up a stick and dipped it in the flame of a nearby candle, watching the fire consume it slowly. She put the stick to an unlit candle and the flame engulfed the dry wick, dividing from its original source to start a new fire.

Angie blew out the flame and tossed the stick in the nearby bin. She esconsced herself in a nearby pew, trying to pray but finding herself throttled, muffled somehow. Visions of Fred being attacked in the street and Deborah huddled, weeping on the bedroom floor, swirled in her head. She hated it, and tears flowed easily and quickly down her face.

She wished she could hunt down every man who had attacked Fred, every man who had ever attacked someone because of the color of their skin, and give them a taste of their own medicine. But she laughed at the futility and impossibility of that desire.

More practically, she wished she could talk to Millie. She understood Millie’s pain, her confusion, her fear. Perhaps not how it felt to be faced with the loss of a family fortune, but she knew how it felt to be an outcast, separate from her family. She longed to tell her that accepting herself as she was didn’t have to be the end of the road. There were so many like Millie, like Angie, and while they did have to remain hidden from the majority of society, there were pockets--places like Bronzeville or Towertown--where she could find freedom and community and acceptance.

Angie couldn’t pretend, however, that she didn’t also want to slap Millie directly across the face for what she’d done to Deborah. Deborah didn’t deserve that. She deserved someone who would be proud and happy to be with her.

Suddenly she thought of Peggy, a bright spot in the dark, a pillar of strength. What a surprise she had been. Angie marveled as she came to realize that Peggy’s cool, collected demeanor belied a heart full of kindness and generosity. It seemed she had a lot of love to give.

Her job, whatever it was, was taxing, yet nearly every night she came with Angie to visit Fred, bringing chocolate for Deborah. Peggy was, in fact, the only person, other than Isabel and Esther, that Deborah had allowed to visit. (Peggy was also secretly paying Fred’s rent; she made Angie swear blind she wouldn’t mention it to Deborah or Fred, and Angie had agreed. They wouldn’t want charity.)

Angie wondered, not for the first time, how on earth she had been lucky enough to even come in contact with her so randomly back in May. Who could have possibly predicted Peggy Carter? Where had she even come from? Angie certainly hadn’t been looking for her, hadn’t been looking for love, hadn’t been looking for anything except success in her career and maybe a little side action from time to time.

And then, out of the clear blue, Peggy Carter appeared, stealing her heart, mind, anxiety, and breath. Angie had fallen hard, continued to fall day after day, despite Peggy’s secrets and Angie’s family and all the shit that was going on currently.And the fact that this same Peggy Carter--the beautiful, British, classy, elegant, intense, powerful--was hers, goofy, silly, generous, caring, loyal: well, that was a miracle worthy of any saint.

In the darkness of the chapel, Angie supposed it was incontrovertible proof that the world wasn’t a completely dark and unforgiving place. It couldn’t be, not when Peggy kissed her with such sweet passion, not when Peggy lit up like a firework when Angie came over after work, not when Angie thought her chest might crack open whenever she looked into Peggy’s dark eyes, not when her heart ached with love for lovely English rose.

And she did. She loved Peggy so very much, more than she’d ever thought could be possible. What was more, she was exhausted with the effort of keeping it to herself; she didn’t even care if Peggy said it back to her. She figured the chances were high she wouldn’t--Peggy wasn’t always comfortable expressing her feelings--but Angie was past caring. She just needed Peggy to know.

Angie wondered idly what right she had to find such beauty and satisfaction in her own life when her nearest and dearest were so unhappy. She didn’t have an answer for that, however, and her mind drifted on.

 _I wish you were here,_ she thought to Angelo, wherever he might be. _I think you’d really like Peggy. And I'd definitely try to hook you up with Fred._

She sat for a few more moments before deciding she’d better head home and make sure Deborah was getting to bed. It wasn’t until she was in the cab and halfway home that she realized she’d never gotten around to praying.

 

 

 

“What’s on your mind, Pegs?” Angie asked for what felt like the tenth time that night. It was Thursday night, the day before the biggest game of her career so far, and she was trying not to be nervous. From the moment Peggy had picked her up at 8 that evening, she’d seemed to have something up her sleeve. She was wearing Angie’s favorite dress, the navy blue with red waistband, and she’d shown up with Isabel in tow.

“I’m taking you out,” she’d announced. “Tomorrow is a big day for you, and I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” Angie had glanced at Fred, who was dozing on the couch. “But Fred--” Isabel stepped forward. “That’s why I’m here, honey. I’ll look after Fred. You two lovebirds go have fun.”

Angie tried not to catch Peggy’s eye when Isabel said lovebirds; Peggy herself had laughed nervously. “Thank you, honey,” Angie said, kissing her cheek.

“Go get dressed,” Peggy encouraged. “And put on something really nice.” Angie pulled Peggy with her. “Do you have any requests?” She said with a wink, closing the door behind them as she began unbuttoning her blouse. Peggy’s eyes followed Angie’s fingers, to Angie’s great pleasure.

“Um, n-no,” Peggy answered, tongue peeking out to moisten her lips. Angie shrugged out of her blouse and wriggled out of her skirt. She stepped over them and closer to Peggy. “How do you feel about this bra?” She said, taking Peggy’s hands and placing them on her breasts.

“It’s fine,” Peggy whispered, squeezing Angie’s breast and rolling the nipple between her fingers, through the bra. Angie moaned quietly, rucking up Peggy’s dress and squeezing her rear. “How about we stay in?” she breathed against Peggy’s lips. “Let’s just go to your place.”

Peggy seemed to struggle internally. “Th--there will be time for that later, darling,” she finally said, gently stepping back and smoothing her dress down. Angie instantly pouted. Peggy kissed her cheek. “It’s just that I’ve made reservations for dinner. And I don’t want to be late.” Angie perked up, smiling up at her. “You made us reservations?” she asked slowly, searching Peggy’s face. Peggy nodded. “I did. So please get dressed so we can go.” She glanced toward Angie’s closet. “Maybe you could wear that light blue dress you wore when we went to the railroad exhibit at the museum. You looked positively radiant in that one.”

Angie had been pleased that Peggy had a favorite dress. “Why yes, as I recall, you did have trouble keeping your eyes off of me when I wore it,” she’d teased, and Peggy’s eyes had darkened slightly. “And my hands,”she’d said with a slightly lecherous grin. Angie had laughed and scurried to find the dress.

Peggy had then taken her to Swann’s, a fancy restaurant in Bronzeville known for its discretion, for a romantic dinner. Angie gabbed nervously, happy to be out of the house but trying desperately not to think about the game tomorrow. She hadn’t been too preoccupied to notice that Peggy was even quieter than normal, or that her reactions were a split second slower than usual. But whenever Angie asked gently what was on her mind, Peggy had simply smiled and assured her it was nothing.

When they’d had drinks at Club DeLisa, they’d huddled together in a dark booth, kissing and watching the cabaret. Angie had snuggled as far into Peggy’s side as she could, breathing deeply of her scent and perfume, but even in the dark it still felt as if Peggy was hiding something.

They’d gone back to Peggy’s place afterward, where Peggy had given her a single red rose and had made love to her in a way that felt apologetic, almost guilty. Now they were lounging in bed, Peggy’s head on her chest. Angie stroked her shoulders and back softly.

"C’mon Pegs, out with it already. I know somethin’s up and you might as well tell me.” Peggy didn’t move for a few minutes, and Angie wondered if she’d heard her. But Peggy squeezed her tighter than she had been, and pulled herself up so they were face to face.

“There is something I need to tell you,” Peggy said slowly. Angie wondered if this would be the night Peggy finally told her what her job was.

_Or maybe it would be the night we quit pretending we aren’t in love with each other._

She reached out and tugged Peggy’s ear playfully. “I know, sweetheart. For someone with a mysterious job you’re shit at hiding what’s on your mind.” Peggy laughed a little but it sounded stilted, awkward.

“What’s going on, honey? Just tell me.” Peggy took a breath, seeming to steel herself for whatever she was about to say. The soft lamplight caught in her hair and illuminated her face.

“Darling, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I--I’ve just been given a vitally important work assignment in Washington. And I’m the only one who can take it. It’s very important,” she repeated, glancing at Angie.

Well. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Is important a code word for dangerous, Peggy?” she asked, dreading the answer. Peggy cleared her throat. “I will have to be careful,” she said deliberately, “But it’s my job, and I’m quite confident it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Angie took a moment to digest.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “Well I’m glad you’re telling me, honey. When do you leave for this assignment? Not too soon I hope.” Peggy didn’t answer, refusing to meet her eyes, and the creeping dread blossomed even more in Angie’s stomach.

“When do you leave?” she repeated, sitting up in the bed. Peggy reluctantly followed her lead. “Soon,” she choked out, still not meeting Angie’s eyes.

Angie’s heart was beating wildly. Why was Peggy making her drag this out of her? “How. Soon,” she said, not a question but a demand. Peggy wrung her hands. “Tomorrow,” she finally said quietly. “I won’t be able to make it to the championship.”

Angie felt as if her heart stopped beating and felt to her feet, and she froze. “What,” she said flatly, unblinking. Peggy grabbed her hands. “Angie, darling, I’m so sorry. I know how important that game is to you but my job--”

“Is critically important, I know. The most important job in the world. So you said. But I have a job, too, you know. This game is the biggest of my career! And you know how much I need you. How could you not be there?”

Peggy looked miserable. “I know! I know how important it is, Angie.” Angie’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I know you only find out about these things at the last minute, so I guess I’ll just have to--” But she happened to catch a glimpse of Peggy’s face just then, and something about the way her eyes continued to jump nervously and the way she fidgeted with the sheets was suspicious.

“When did you find out about this assignment?” Peggy looked away. “You know my job, sometimes I don’t get very much warning. When I was called to St. Louis I only found out the day before.  I just have to be ready at a moment’s notice...” She trailed off, again avoiding making eye contact.

Heat was starting to rise in Angie’s chest now, and she turned to place the weight of her gaze fully on Peggy. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, as calmly as she could. “How long have you known?”

Peggy collapsed against the headboard. “A week,” she finally admitted, looking as if she might be sick.

Anger was an unmistakable feeling for Angie; she felt hot and cold at once. Her body seemed to be engulfed in flames but the blood running through her veins felt like ice. Though she was an emotional, outgoing personality, in anger she always completely stilled, her thoughts clear, her gaze cold and unflinching.

Her voice was low and steady as she spoke. “Peggy Carter, are you telling me that, instead of telling me, your girlfriend of 5 months, whom you know has a history of performance nervousness, that you have to work instead of attending the biggest game of the year--instead of giving me time to get used to that fact, you fucking drop it on me the _goddamned day before_?”

Peggy sighed a heavy sigh and seemed to shrink into the pillows. “It’s not--ideal, I know. But Angie, these things happen with my job. You know the nature of my work--”

“No, I fucking don’t, because you’ve never trusted me enough to tell me,” Angie snapped, feeling her anger starting to get the better of her but powerless to stop it.

Peggy winced. “I do trust you, Angie. I do. But I work on an extremely need-to-know basis. I don’t tell you for your own protection.” She reached for Angie’s hand, but Angie snatched it away. “Sure, Peg. Whatever, maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t explain why you kept this from me for a week. A week, Peggy! Now I don’t have time to process or come up with a strategy...” She felt tears come but she angrily brushed them away.

Peggy’s pain was evident on her face. “I--I guess I thought if I didn’t tell you until now, you wouldn’t panic and spend the week turning yourself inside out about it. And what with everything going on with Deborah and Fred, I didn’t want to burden you any further. I truly thought it would be the best thing.” Angie flung herself out of the bed and began pacing. She felt herself growing frantic.

“I know it’s a disappointment, darling, but I really think you needn’t worry about your performance. You’ve been doing so well, extravagantly so, from what I’ve heard, even when I’ve had to miss a game. I’m confident you’ll be able to rally.” Peggy walked slowly over to where Angie was standing but didn’t touch her.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” Angie whispered, struggling to stay in control. She had visions of herself, choking on the diamond, unable to throw a single pitch because of fear of what might happen to Peggy. What if someone attacked her, like they had Fred?

“What if I don’t play well because I can’t quit thinking about you being in danger? What if something happens to you?” Peggy shook her head. “Angie, we’ve been over this. I’m incredibly competent, and I’m very good at what I do. I’m not impervious to attack, but I can give as good as I get. Why can’t you just be satisfied with that?”

Angie could take it no more.

“Because I’m fucking _in love_ with you, Peggy Carter! I love you, goddammit, and I care about what happens to you, and this is terrible for me because you won’t tell me your job, only that it’s dangerous, and that you won’t be there when I need you tomorrow because you’re gonna be off putting yourself in harm’s way! And you don’t even care!” Angie’s tears were flowing freely now but she made no move to stop them.

Peggy stared dumbly at her, blinking. “You--you’re in love with me?” She repeated softly, moving slowly towards Angie as if she were a bomb that might go off at any moment. “Are ya hard of hearing, Pegs? Yes, I’m in love with you. Probably have been ever since that night at the automat, when you told me the story about knocking that guy out cold in the street.” She looked down at her feet. “You’re everything I want, Peg, and I can’t believe I get to call you mine.” There was a pause. “And listen, you don’t hafta say it back or anything, I’m not gonna put any pressure on you. I just--it’s just, you _have_ someone now, alright? Me. You have me now. Please try to remember that!”

But Peggy was gathering Angie into her arms, eyes wet but a smile on her face. “But of course I’m in love with you, Angie. I’ve wanted to tell you for quite some time but it--was never the right moment. And I’ve never quite, er, told anyone that before. But I do.” She pulled Angie close, kissing her temple. “I love you so much, my darling.”

Angie kissed her then, and their lips melded together in that perfect way that always sent a chill down Angie’s spine. But she pulled away after a few moments.

“I’m still mad at you, English,” she said stubbornly. “You shoulda told me.” Peggy sighed and wrapped her arms around Angie tightly. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry. But I have all the faith in you. I know you’re going to do an absolutely bang-up job, and I’ll be with you in spirit. You'll feel me there with you, because I know I always feel you with me. Like a handprint, right here.” She placed Angie’s hand on her heart.

Angie looked into Peggy’s eyes then, and her anger melted, like ice in July. She let Peggy off the hook.

 “We should probably go to bed,” she said softly. “Both of us have big days tomorrow.” She paused. "Can you hold me for a little while?" Peggy picked her up and carried her back to bed. “As you wish, my darling.” Angie felt Peggy’s breath deepen a few moments later; she was lost to dreamland. And so Angie clung to her, hoping Peggy’s confident snore would repel her anxious thoughts.

Perhaps it worked; for soon Angie knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't turn out ANYTHING like the way I planned it. Also, I burned through A LOT of events and situations, I know. I'm sorry if it feels crammed, but I swear this story had a mind of its own.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> -I based my character Fred loosely on a real man Lorenzo Banyard, who lived and performed in Bronzeville in the 40s. He was a drag performer and dancer, and unfortunately faced much period-typical homophobia, including a fairly violent attack. Read all about it in this fascinating interview with him here: http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/queer-bronzeville/part-2/nancy-kelly  
> -So I'm not Catholic, but I do have a deeply religious background. Angie and Angelo's stories are based on experiences of real people I know, and some of Angie's thoughts run fairly similar to mine.  
> -Millie's (and Deborah's) story isn't based on any one specific person, but her story was frustratingly common. Have a field day googling lgbtq history.  
> -St. Christopher's Hospital is fictional, but it was common for hospitals of the day to seriously discriminate against people of color. Many hospitals wouldn't even treat them. Sources abound, but I mostly based my story experiences on The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. An amazing but heartbreaking read.  
> -Angie's friends are a wonderfully diverse group, but this is mostly because they're all queer and hang out in Bronzeville. It was actually quite common in that day for racial/ethnic groups to be segregated (Italians didn't mix with black people, etc. etc.); people of color were often denied service of all kinds, and often couldn't get taxis; places like the South Side were routintely avoided by middle class/rich white people etc etc. Again no specific sources but only because there are far too many to list.  
> -I realize my vision of Peggy in this story is perhaps a bit fanciful and not what we've seen. That's intentional. In this story I see her as someone who is a tiny bit more open than she was in her Agent Carter days. I feel like she has a lot of love to give and really loves people, despite some natural social awkwardness and a standoffishness that she cultivated as a result of losing the people closest to her. I like to think that Angie and her small community of friends would bring out a caring, thoughtful side of Peggy not seen by anyone in a long, long time. 
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback here or on my tumblr, yourfacelessdistraction.tumblr.com. Thanks so much!
> 
> P.S. I keep meaning to mention this: this fic is completely unbeta'd, so the many, many mistakes and typos are all mine. Thanks for your patience.


	13. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story end, in snapshots. Part 1 of 2.

**Preface**

_ Peggy - Friday _

Peggy woke early the next morning, near 6:00. Angie was asleep beside her, hair splayed across the pillow, last night’s worries temporarily erased from her visage as she softly snored.

Peggy slid out of bed with a quiet sigh. Angie didn’t wake or even move, and Peggy congratulated herself on her stealth as she headed to the bathroom. In the shower, her mind filled with excitement for her upcoming reentry into the field (even if the mission was expected to take only a week). Her mind raced ahead, planning strategy, plotting the mission.

But though she tried to ignore and block it out, the issue of Angie stubbornly remained, like a heartrendingly beautiful thorn in her side, or a diamond in her shoe. Drying off with her towel, Peggy wondered, not for the first time, if dating someone completely unaware of her work was irresponsible, doomed to fail.

She thought of Steve. Had he survived, he would undoubtedly be given missions of his own, and he would understand when she would disappear occasionally. Not only that, but she’d never have had to worry about anyone trying to kidnap him or take him hostage--at least not without a fight.

A cold shiver when down her spine as a picture of Angie, bound, gagged, and crying in a dark basement, suddenly flashed across her mind. Truly, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Peggy was taken aback, however, by her own body’s reaction to this hypothetical situation; her bones seemed to turn to steel, fire kindled in her belly. Of course there would be risk with Angie. There was risk in any normal, garden variety relationship, and most people were not nearly as well-equipped, trained, and capable as Peggy.

And she preferred not to think of her love--the gravity of the word seemed to settle in her chest--for Angie as a weakness, though she supposed it was. For indeed, if anything were to happen to Angie, in this moment, Peggy knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do, no rule she wouldn’t break, no man she wouldn’t kill, to protect Angie or ensure her safe return.

_This revelation should scare you_ , she thought as she pulled on the clothes she’d laid out the previous night. That she realized she was capable of such carelessness, such recklessness, should be an embarrassment. But was Peggy stepped into her shoes, she found she was not embarrassed in the least; she was incapable of caring about how she should feel. She loved Angie and she was not ashamed; nor would she allow herself to give in to fear, or convention, or even, as the case may be, common sense.

But when she returned from this mission, she would have a long talk with Angie. Because Angie deserved to know.

She walked back to the bedroom for a last glimpse. She would probably wake Angie to say goodbye, but she looked to content and perfect to disturb and Peggy decided against it. Better not to trouble her any further. Instead, she walked over to her desk and pulled out some stationery and a pen to write a note.

_Dearest Angie,_

_Please accept my apologies for this note in lieu of a personal goodbye. You were sleeping so soundly and I had no wish to disturb you._

_Again, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you where things stood at earlier time, but please believe me when I say I truly hoped to cause you the least possible amount of harm. However, you do have every right to be upset with me._

_I’m not quite sure when I’ll return, but it shouldn’t be too long, I don’t expect more than a week. I’ll be in touch when I can, and upon my return, I promise to explain everything._

_My darling, please try not to stress today. I have all the confidence in you, and I know you’ll do even better than your best. Your teammates are behind you, your friends are behind you, and so am I. No matter the outcome, I could not be more proud of you._

_All my love,_

_Peggy_

Peggy fished the spare key she’d had made out of her desk drawer and taped it to the note, then pressed a kiss under her signature. Bit over the top, she childed herself as she walked quietly over to the bed. She placed the note on the pillow next to Angie, who continued to snore softly. Peggy smiled and bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. “I love you,” she whispered, taking just one more moment to memorize Angie’s features, to burn her scent into her memory, before tipping out, picking up the suitcase she’d placed by the desk, and closing the door behind her.

  
  
  
_ Angie - Friday _

The sun shone brilliantly, overpowering Peggy’s curtains, and Angie woke with warmth on her face. She blinked open her eyes slowly, reached for Peggy.

“Peggy?” She looked around but the dark haired British woman was nowhere in sight or earshot, and Angie’s heart sank. She’d known Peggy had had to leave early, but she hadn’t thought it would be without saying goodbye.

Heaving a sigh, she sank onto Peggy’s side of the bed. It was cold; Peggy must have left ages ago. Then her eyes fell on the folded paper on Peggy’s pillow. Moisture sprang to her eyes as she read the note. She was still a little mad, but now she mostly just wanted Peggy to be safe. God, she loved Peggy.

_ So pull yourself together, Martinelli. You can do this. _

It was nearly noon before Angie left Peggy’s apartment. When she got back to her own home, Fred was chatty, and Deborah had an unexpected morning off. Angie wanted nothing more than to avoid her own anxious thoughts, so she cuddled with Deborah on the couch and listened while Fred chattered on, walking back and forth on his crutches to get exercise.

Eventually, Angie knew she would have to get a move on if she wanted to accomplish everything on her pre-game to-do list, so she reluctantly got up and went to pack her bag. Her freshly washed and pressed uniform and cap, socks and cleats, baseball glove, perfume, clean rags, a change of clothes, and a few gifts she’d purchased her for parents. After kissing Deborah and Fred, she headed to her grandmother’s.

Upon arriving, she let herself into the tiny tenement, looking around for the diminutive woman. “Nonna?” she called out quietly, walking into the living room. “Is that my Angela?” came a voice from a corner. Angie’s grandmother sat in a rocking chair, knitting and humming along to a radio. Angie let out a breath she was unaware of holding and made her way over to the small sofa by the rocking chair.

“It’s been too long,” her grandmother said sternly, though she smiled when Angie kissed her cheek. Angie sat down with a flounce. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve had a busy few weeks, nonna.” The old woman set down her knitting and looked at Angie expectantly. “Well, you are here now,” she said kindly. “Talk!”

Angie smiled and obeyed. “I have a big game tonight, and I’m a little scared,” she confessed. “What if I don’t do well? What if I embarrass myself again?” Her grandmother tilted her head slightly. “Whatever became of the mystery woman from before? Who cheered you on? Won’t having her there help you?” Angie tried not to noticeably wince. “No, she...can’t make it,” she said stiffly. Her grandmother was quiet for a moment. “Well, are you planning to do your best?”

Angie nodded. “Of course!” Her grandmother squeezed her hand. “Then that’s all anyone can expect of you, even yourself. You must simply have courage.”

"I don’t think it’s that simple,” Angie murmured, but the elderly woman seemed not to hear. “Have you eaten, Angela? Let’s go next door to your mother’s.” Angie smiled and acquiesced, helping her grandmother up from her chair.

Next door, Angie’s mother was washing dishes while Lucia dried. Gabriella, Angela’s niece, was strapped into a high chair, throwing her rag doll onto the floor.

“Ah, Angie!” her mother cried, and Angie couldn’t help but smile as she bent over to squeeze her tightly. Lucia laid down her towel and pulled out a chair for Angie’s grandmother to sit in.

“Today’s the big day, Angie, si?” Lucia asked, pinching Angie’s cheek on her way back to the sink. “Yes,” Angie said almost absently, leaning down to pull Gabriella out of her high chair. The toddler laughed and rubbed her sticky face against Angie’s.

“Well? How do you feel?” her mother asked, with concern. “Have you eaten? Are you ready?”

Angie placed butterfly kisses on Gabriella’s cheek, eliciting a giggle from the little girl. “I hope so, Ma. I’m a little anxious though.” She stole a glance at her mother. “I wish you would come.” Angie’s mother and aunt exchanged mischievous looks. “As the case may be, we may have a surprise for you,” Lucia announced with a mysterious smile.

Angie’s interest was piqued. “What is it?” she asked eagerly. “It’s a surprise, Angini. Which means you’ll just have to wait and--”

“We’re all coming to your big game, Angini!” her mother shouted, as always, unable to contain herself. Angie was very much like her mother in that respect.

Angie was so shocked she almost dropped Gabriella, who let out a tiny squeal. “You--you are?” She had been trying to get them to attend her games since the beginning of the season, but they were always too busy working.

“Yes, my dear,” Lucia said, and Gabriella clapped her hands. “It’s your biggest day. How could we not be there?” Angie’s mother said, with a shrug.

Something in Angie’s chest took flight. _Maybe I can do this, after all._

“We’ll all be there,” Lucia said. “We’ve been planning this for weeks, and we all bought tickets in the same section, so you’ll be able to look up as see us there!” Angie felt tears spring to her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly. Gabriella noticed her tears and wiped them away with sticky palms.

“It’s the least we could do after not being able to see you all year. Now, come, set the table. Your father will be home for lunch in a little while.”

  
  
  


Angie stayed for a leisurely lunch. Her favorite moment came during a moment when her grandmother, mother and aunt were debating the relative advantages of two different brands of flour for making pasta; her father had turned to her and, a bit stiffly, had clapped a hand on her shoulder and said, “We’re proud of you, Angie.” She beamed. “Thanks, Pa.” There was an awkward but warm pause, then Angie asked how things were going at his mechanic’s shop, and they were able to converse more comfortably.

“You should come by, Angini. There’s this one Pontiac that could really use your touch.” Angie smiled excitedly. “As soon as the season’s over, I’ll be there!”

Eventually, Angie looked at her watch: it was 3pm, and she was due in the locker room at 4:30. She jumped up from the table, bidding a hasty goodbye as everyone cheered, assuring her they’d see her later.

After stopping briefly back at her apartment for her uniform and hat--thank god she had washed and pressed it beforehand--she caught a cab to the field, not wanting to take a risk with the bus.

She walked into the Wilmot Arena at 4:15, slightly anxious but nowhere near as sick as she’d been in the past. As she walked through the halls, she reflected on the past 5 months. So much had changed and she’d come so far. From a self-doubting rookie pitcher who struggled to strike out anyone to leading her team to the league championships! Who would have believed it? Certainly not her.

Angelo would have.

She walked finally into the locker room, depositing her bag into her locker. Helen, the chaperone, sat on a bench, her ever present clipboard in hand. “Good afternoon, Angela. How’re you feeling today? Up for the challenge?”

“Feelin’ pretty good. Ready to play.”

Moments later, Coach Branch blustered in, followed by a stream of Angie’s teammates. “Everyone meet in the dugout in 15,” she barked.

When everyone was gathered, Coach Branch stood up and faced them. “You girls know I’m not much for speeches. But I did want to just say a few words today. This has been a great season, lotsa ups and downs. Everyone’s improved and gotten better, and we’ve had the best season of any new team ever in this league. And you’re all a part of that equally--we couldn’t have made it to the championships without any of ya.” She paused for breath. “Now, listen, I’m gonna say somethin’ that you’re probably not expectin’ a coach to say, and that is: I’m not puttin’ any pressure on ya to win today. Rockford is a strong, powerful team, the best in the league, with seasoned players and a long history, and we’re just a buncha rookie upstarts. Just the fact the fact that we made it this far--nobody expected it, not even me. So don’t go beatin’ yourselves up if we don’t win. That bein’ said, I want you to get out there and give it your all, just like ya have been since April. You do that, and I’ll be proud of ya no matter the outcome.”

She cleared her throat. “One last thing. I said everyone’s done well this season, and it’s true. You’ve all impressed me mightily. But one player in particular I think deserve some special recognition for her accomplishments and progress this year. Martinelli, come up here.”

A cheer went up as Angie stood and walked dazedly to where Coach Branch stood. “Now, you had a real rough start to this season, and I almost had to let ya go. But you rebounded and you were stubborn, and you finally relaxed and let that natural talent shine. Just wanted to tell ya I’m proud of ya, and I’m sure your teammates are, too. Right, girls?”

The team clapped and cheered again, and Babe stood and led an impromptu chorus of “For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow.” For the second time that day, Angie found herself blinking back tears.

Finally the time came for the game to start. Angie squirmed through the convocation and fidgeted through the National Anthem,  clutching her glove in both of her slightly sweaty hands. She wished the game were already over.

The Asters were the home team, which meant she would be pitching first. As the umpires headed to the diamond and her teammates took the field, Angie felt the familiar sensation of nervousness in her stomach, fingers, legs. But there was something different this time.

For one, every one of her teammates, including those she’d been convinced hated her, came up to her and patted her on the back or slapped her butt, smiling and giving her messages of encouragement. Sue Ellen Crouch had come back in town, and even she begrudgingly shook Angie’s hand and wished her good game.

As she took the mound, Angie looked up and out into the stands, and sure enough, there was a whole section of just her family: parents, grandmother, sisters and husbands, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, even a few cousins, all shouting and cheering her on.

Nearly overcome, she paused for a moment to take it all in. In that moment, she thought of the final factor that was affecting her today: Peggy.

Almost 6 months ago Peggy had appeared out of the clear blue, and though she’d had no inkling at the time, she’d been there for Angie when Angie needed someone the most.

And now they were...in love?

Smiling at the impossibility of it all, Angie gathered every message she’d received like precious stones, scooping them into her heart: _No matter the outcome, I could not be prouder of you. We’re all proud of you. We love you, Angie._

As she bent down to pick up the baseball, she knew the game could still go anyway--Rockford was the best team in the league, and the Asters had never won against them. Not to mention, Rockford had won every championship in league history. But Angie didn’t let any of this affect her. She’d come too far now.

She did, for a split second, feel a current of worry as she wondered what Peggy might be up to. But Peggy wouldn’t want her to worry, and Angie knew she couldn’t let her concern for Peggy corrupt her performance this evening. Her teammates and coach deserved more than that.

Angie looked out one last time, at the crowd, at her family, at her teammates, at her coach, allowing the culmination of everything to wash over her. Then she took a breath, wound up, and threw the first pitch.

  
  
_ Friday - later _

“Miss Martinelli! Can I ask you a few questions for the Post?” Angie turned to find an eager young woman with a pad and pencil in her hand, a card reading ‘PRESS’ stuck in the band of her hat. Angie grabbed the arm of Babe, who was thankfully standing next to her, for support. Don’t leave, she mouthed, and Babe grinned and nodded.

“Um, sure,” she stuttered. “Great. So 6-5, squeaker of a game. I thought for a second Chicago might actually beat Rockford. How does it feel to come that close?”

“Er, great? Of course we wanted to win, and we played our best, but in the end, Rockford was just the stronger team.” The reporter’s head bobbed up and down as she scribbled onto her pad.

“You had to be pretty surprised you got to the championships. The Asters are a brand new team, after all, and the Rockford Peaches haven’t lost in years.” Angie glanced at Babe, who simply shrugged and winked.

"Yes, it was an an honor for to get this far as a brand-new club, but our team is quite strong, and we’ve got some of the best players in the league with us,” Angie said, feeling herself getting a bit indignant. She was not fond of talking to the press.

“And especially after your own poor performance in the first few games of the season. What changed? How did you get here?” Angie’s heart skipped a beat, and she threw a help me look at Babe, who stepped forward. “Angie has absolutely come a long way, but we all knew what she was capable of. Nice talking to you, miss.” She nudged Angie away from the reporter and towards the dugout.

“Why don’t you go ahead and meet up with your family, Ang? I know you’re tired and you played a hell of a game today.” Angie looked up at her gratefully. “Thanks, Babe. For everything.”

Angie’s family was clumped outside the arena, and when she exited the stadium she ran over to join them. “Ay, Angie!” they all shouted at once, hugging her and clapping her on the back.

“How does it feel to be a big-time baseball player?” her little brother asked, tossing her the baseball he’d been tossing in the air. “Pretty good,” she laughed, throwing the ball back at him. As he went to catch it, he stumbled over a rock, but managed to right himself and still grab the ball.

“Wow, what a catch, Donnie!” their mother said with admiration. “Maybe _you_ should be the ball player,” Angie teased.

“Angini, now that your season is over, what’s next?” Angie’s mother sidled up to Angie as they made their way to the family’s various modes of transport. “Well, the season isn’t quite over yet. There’s an all-star game and then an awards ceremony next week,” Angie told her. “Game on Wednesday, ceremony on Thursday.”

“So even though the season’s over, it’s still not over?” Angie’s father asked, befuddled. Angie couldn’t help but laugh. “After next week, it’ll be over,” she promised.

Angie’s mother squeezed Angie’s hand. “Well then, I suppose we should postpone the celebration to next Friday.” Angie looked down at her. “You had a party planned?”

Her mother looked indignant. “Of course! We’re all so proud, Angini. So proud we must eat. So we’ll make dinner, and you can bring your friends. Perhaps a boy?” Angie took a breath. “There’s no boy, Ma. But I’ll tell Deborah, for sure.” She paused. “There’s also another--friend I might invite. I’d like for you all to meet her, but she’s--she travels a lot for work and I’m not sure if she’ll back in time.” She trailed off, not quite sure where she was going, and her mother looked at her curiously. “Well, if she’s in town, bring her by next Friday evening.”

  
  


_Tuesday_

The last week of October shuffled along, much like the leaves that fell from the trees danced slowly to the ground, pushed by autumn winds. The weather was noticeably chillier, especially in the evenings, and, now that the baseball season was over, Angie was looking forward to warm nights at home. The phone rang around 10pm on one such evening, and Fred, up for a bit of exercise, went to answer it. Angie looked over briefly from the kitchen, where she and Deborah were sipping tea and chatting.

“I can’t believe you’re still working there, honey. Isn’t it hard to see her everyday? I thought you were going to quit and find something else.” Deborah sighed. “It is hard, but it’s my job. I do wanna quit, but I’ve gotta find something else first.”

“Didn’t Fred say his department store was hiring? Why don’t you try there? They need cleaners but also clerks, from what I’ve heard.” Deborah made a face. “Can you really see me as a shopgirl?” Angie shrugged. “At least you wouldn’t have to see--”

“I know. I’ll think about it.” Deborah finished her tea and placed the cup in the sink. “Gonna go to bed. Night,” she said, turning to leave. “Oh, hey, wait. Um, my family’s having a big dinner celebration for me on Friday night. You should come. I know they’ll all want to see you.” Deborah smiled a small smile. “I guess I might be willing to brave all those loud white folk for your mama’s cookin’,” she said with a laugh. “Thanks for the invite, hun.”

Angie smiled. “I love you.” Deborah hugged her tightly. “How’re you holdin’ up with Peggy? You heard from her yet?” Angie shook her head. “Not yet, but she’s pretty busy with her...work. She said she’d be in touch as soon as she could.”

Deborah nodded. “Alright, well, when she does call, tell me so I can give her a piece of my mind.” But she winked and smiled, and Angie rolled her eyes as Deborah walked to the bedroom.

Fred was still on the phone, so Angie walked over and poked his arm. “Who’s calling so late?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Oh, it’s Peggy,” he mouthed sheepishly.

Angie intended to elbow him so hard in the ribs he would have had a hole in his side, but in the nick of time she remembered his ribs were still technically broken. She instead snatched the phone from him and sent him a death glare. He put up his hands in mock surrender and walked to the kitchen.

“What on earth  do you mean by calling my house and NOT talking to me!” she cried, forgetting to even ask if Peggy was alright or where she was. Peggy’s low chuckle filled the receiver.

“I’m sorry, darling, but Fred seemed so eager for conversation,” Peggy said apologetically, her accent music to Angie’s ears. “How are you? I miss you keenly. Tell me everything.”

“First tell me where you are, and that you’re okay,” Angie said softly. “Yes, Angie, I’m fine. I’m in D.C., but I’m actually quite close to being finished. I should be back in Chicago on Thursday or Friday.”

“Oh, please be back by Friday. My ma’s having a big party for me on Friday at 8, all my family will be there, and Deborah, and I--hoped--you would maybe stop by.” Her words came out in a rush, and she was a little nervous when there was a pause from Peggy. “You want me to meet your family?” Peggy asked finally.

Angie nodded, again mentally kicking herself. _Stop nodding during phone conversations!_

“Yes. I mean, if you, you know, want to. They don’t--know about me, of course. Except for one aunt. But I want them to know you. And for you to know the. At least a little. Cause you’re important.” She took a breath. “Will you think about it?”

But Peggy didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll come. I’d love to meet your family. You’re important to me too.” She let out another quiet chuckle. “I must admit though, my Italian is fairly rusty. I don’t think I’ve spoken it in at least 2 years. Not since...the war.”

“You’re so pretty, they won’t care,” Angie assured her, and Peggy laughed heartily. “If you say so.”

They talked a little longer, and Angie made sure to give Peggy the address of her mother’s house. Soon though, she could tell Peggy was tired, though she was trying valiantly to hide it. “You should go to bed, English. I hope you’re takin’ care of yourself.” Peggy sighed a little. “I am. But only until I get back and you take over.” Angie felt a rush of emotions to her chest, and she gripped the phone tighter. “I love you, Peggy. Come back to me soon, alright?”

Angie heard Peggy’s smile through the phone. “I’ll do my best. Good night, darling girl. I’ll call again when I can. And--I love you, too.”

  
  


_Wednesday - Thursday_

Angie was relieved she wasn’t required to participate in the All-Star game, only to attend. It meant she could sit in the dugout and watch the best of her peers play, while giggling and cracking jokes with Laura, Becky, Mabel, and Linda--the “violet league,” as they had secretly dubbed themselves.

In the months since Angie had met them at the league mixer, they’d corresponded monthly through letters, which included the circulation of their own private queer newsletter, Pitcher/Catcher. But it was so much better being together.

Angie had obtained special permission for her friends Isabel and Esther to sit with her, and they fit right in with the rest of the girls. Angie even suspected Isabel had some chemistry with Becky; when they’d all gone out for drinks in Bronzeville after the game, the two of them had completely disappeared.

When everyone else was occupied, Angie told Laura, a little about Peggy, and Laura had told her about Hannah. All in all, it was a fun night--despite a close run in with Helen, who’d reprimanded Angie for not sitting with her teammates.

That night and the next were a blur of activities with the violet league, with constant bar hopping and breakfasts in Bronzeville, interrupted only by the awards ceremony on Thursday evening. Angie was awarded team Most Valuable Player (an award voted on by coach and teammates), and despite the crowd, she heard her teammates cheering when she walked up to receive the trophy.

The violet league finally dispersed in the wee hours of Friday morning, with promises to keep in touch through the next few months. Isabel, however, talked Becky into staying the entire weekend, which pleased Angie immensely.

Saturday night was October 30th, which meant the annual Bronzeville Drag Ball, the second biggest event of the year (after the New Year’s Ball). Angie always thought that was what had truly and finally sealed the deal with her and Bronzeville. Any community of people who threw an enormous bash on Halloween, complete with masks, alcohols, drag contests, and dancing were her people.

Fred and his troupe were scheduled to perform and compete this year, but Fred was of course unable to go through with it. He spent Friday moaning about it, but though Angie was annoyed, she didn’t have the heart to say anything to him about it.

Deborah, however, had no such qualms. “Will you shut up for one minute about that damn drag ball!” she cried. “You can still go. It’s not like you’re dead.”

“But I can’t dance,” Fred protested. “And if I can’t dance, what’s even the point?”

“Then don’t go,” Deborah said dismissively. “I’m not.” Angie turned to Deborah incredulously. “You’re not going to the drag ball? But it’s your favorite thing!” Deborah shrugged. “Things change,” she said curtly, heading to the kitchen. Angie and Fred watched her go in silence.

“I thought she was doing better with the whole Millie thing,” Fred said after a moment. “It’s only been two weeks, Fred,” Angie reminded. “It affected her really hard. She probably just needs more time.” Fred snorted. “Do you think that rich girl is giving her a second thought? If you ask me, Deborah dodged a bullet. I do wish she’d find someplace else to work though,” he added in a softer tone of voice. “I hate that she has to see her every day.”

Angie nodded. “I talked to her a little about maybe looking at your job. Maybe she’ll find something there.” Fred nodded approvingly. “She really needs to come to the Drag Ball, too. It’ll be the perfect place to find someone that’ll erase the memories of Millie.”

“Well, maybe not erase them, but it would get her mind off of things. Let’s both try to talk to her tomorrow, see if she’ll change her mind.” Fred sighed. “Now if only there was someone I could talk to about getting rid of these crutches.”

Angie patted his knee. “Deborah’s right, you know. Maybe you can’t dance this year, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. Most of your drag ball fun comes from drinking alcohol and meeting people, anyway.” She turned to him with a grin. “Remember last year? When you drank all those daiquiris and made out with that girl in the bathroom hallway?” Angie laughed as Fred lifted his chin in superiority. “No, I most definitely do not recall that scenario,” he huffed. “I do, however,” he continued, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “Seem to recall you crying all night because you were convinced you were in love with Isabel and she wouldn’t let you kiss her!” Angie growled and threw a pillow at Fred. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!”

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Angie went to answer. “Telegram for a Miss Angela, er, Martinelli?” he asked. “That’s me,” Angie said, accepting the paper and reaching into her pocket for change for a tip. The delivery boy tipped his hat and left.

Angie unfolded the paper and read: 

** HELLO ANGIE STOP HELD UP A BIT STOP BUT WILL BE HOME THIS EVENING EARLY STOP AROUND 6PM STOP YOURS, P **

“Peggy’s coming!” she squealed to Fred, who smiled as Angie checked the time. 5:00pm. Her stomach fluttered as she tried to decide what to do. Should she meet Peggy at the airport? Or meet her at her apartment? Peggy had left her a key, after all. Or maybe she should wait and let Peggy come on her own. She would probably be tired, and Angie didn’t want to overwhelm her.

So she waited. She chattered mindlessly to Deborah and Fred, and she listened completely without hearing Fred’s outfit plans.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Fred, are you coming to my ma’s house tonight for the party? Deborah’s coming.” Fred looked undecided. “I don’t know...your family’s okay with negroes?” Angie smiled wryly, glancing at Deborah, who looked amused. “Yes, much more than with queers, unfortunately. You’ll have fun, and if you can put up with ‘do you have a girl, Fred?’ for a few hours, you’ll leave stuffed to the gills with pasta. And my Aunt Rachel’s making her mascarpone cake, which is the genuine nectar of the gods.”

“You had me at pasta. When do we leave?” Angie glanced at her watch again. 5:15.

“Well, it starts at 8. I’m heading over early, probably in about 15 minutes, because I need to do a few things for my dad, but Deborah’s coming later, after she takes care of some errands. If you go with Deborah, I’ll leave money for you both to take a cab.” Fred considered. “I’ll come with you. I’ll be ready in a few.”

Angie went to her room to pack a bag: a clean dress, coveralls, her working shoes, a bottle of perfume--a gift for her mother, and 2 loose cigars--from Isabel’s father’s store--and a bottle of Scotch, a gift for her father.

“Let’s go, Fred,” she called, and they walked down to hail a cab.

“Oh, Angie, you’re early!” her mother cried, as Angie and Fred made their way into the house. “And who is this handsome young man? Why is he on crutches? I thought you weren’t bringing a boy!” Angie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t, Ma. This is my friend, Fred. He’s not my...boyfriend. As you can see, he’s temporarily crippled and me and Deborah’ve been taking care of him.”

“You poor boy,” Angie’s mother said, grabbing Fred around the middle and steering him forward. “Come, young man, have a seat and tell us about what happened to you,” she said, tutting and whisking him into the kitchen, where all of Angie’s aunts were involved in preparing dinner.

“Is your roommate coming, Angie?” Elena shouted from the stove. “She promised me last time she’d teach me how to make that cornbread of hers!”

“No, she told me that!” Rachel butted in, next to her. Angie shook her head. “Yes, she’s coming, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to teach you both. Now listen, this is Fred, he’s here to keep you all company--”

But Angie was drowned out by cries of “What happened to you?” and “Why are you on crutches!” and “sit and talk to us!” from Elena, Rachel, Lucia, and her grandmother, so Angie turned to her mother. “So, uh, Ma. That friend I was telling you about--she is coming. Just so you know.”

But her mother had joined the throng of women cooing over a very satisfied looking Fred, and was only partially listening to Angie. “That’s nice, the more the merrier,” she said absently, cutting a piece of cake and sliding it to Fred.

Angie grinned at Fred, who looked very pleased. “I’m going to head over to the shop and see if Dad needs a hand. I’ll be back in time for dinner,” she said with a wave, though no one paid her any mind.

She took her bag and headed up to her room, where she quickly changed into the coveralls she’d brought with her. She pulled her hair into an old red bandana she’d brought and tied it on the top of her head, and checked her watch. 6:00. Peggy should be landing anytime now, and would be there in 2 hours or so. That was more than enough time for Angie to pay a visit to her dad’s auto shop.

After placing the wrapped perfume bottle on her mother’s nightstand, Angie headed outside and down the 3 blocks to the shop. This late on a Saturday meant there’d be no one there but her dad, which was how she wanted it.

When she walked in, the shop was cool, a testament to the slight chill of autumn, not the result of an air conditioning unit--her father steadfastly refused to purchase one.

Angie had always loved the shop. It smelled of oil and tired and engines and rubber, and she had many memories of happy hours spent learning at her father’s side. Though he had been deeply disappointed in Angelo’s disinterest, he was pleased that one of his daughters not only showed interest in cars and motors but seemed to have a knack for it as well; he had often enlisted Angie’s help when he was stuck. And Angie did indeed have a talent for fixing motors; though her academics had always struggled--that had definitely been Angelo’s wheelhouse--something about engines had always made sense to her, and she loved the feel of the metal under her hands, the grease under her fingernails. She loved it all, and the only thing she loved more than cars was baseball. Her father had been brokenhearted when she’d decided to join the women’s league instead of working full time in the shop.

Her father heard her footsteps and poked his head around the car. “Angela! What brings you to the shop this afternoon?” He wiped his hand on the rag he kept in his back pocket and walked over to hug her. He smelled sweaty and earthy, but Angie hardly noticed.

“I thought I’d let you off a few hours early, Pop. Since you and ma planned this party for me, and all.” She dug into her pockets. “I also stole some cigars and this bottle of Scotch. Why don’t you go take it easy for a little bit and let me finish up here?” She glanced at the clipboard holding the work orders. “Doesn’t seem to be anything I can’t handle.”

Angie’s dad tugged on his moustache. “That’s really nice, Angie, but you don’t gotta--” but Angie was already ushering him away from the car. “Just go, Pop. You know you want to--it’s gonna be a long, loud night, lotsa people. Won’t it be nice to have a little time to yourself before you hafta face that?”

Her dad smiled begrudgingly but sincerely. “Alright, but only cause you insist,” he said, grabbing for the cigars and whiskey. “If you can, try to take care of that Ford truck first. It’s been givin’ me all kindsa trouble. Make sure you--”

“Lock up when I’m done, I know, Pop. Now go!”

 

 

Angie hadn’t meant to be in the shop longer than an hour or so, but the Ford truck posed a delicious and bewitching challenge, and she succumbed to the intricacy of the metal, the smell of motor oil, and the whirring of the window fans, losing all track of time.

Eventually she heard to shop door open, and she sighed loudly. “Pop, I’m fine, I told you to take some time off. But since you’re here, lemme tell you about the truck.” She walked from around the car, rag in one hand, wiping sweat from her brow with the other. “See, the thing was, there was the tiniest abrasion on the---”

But instead of her father, there stood Peggy, in a red checked jacket and slim black skirt, clutching her purse and standing stock still, mouth agape.

Angie grinned and ran to embrace her girlfriend before remembering she had been sweating in an autoshop for who knew how long. She stopped short, but even from half a foot away she could smell Peggy’s perfume.

“Hey, English,” she said with faux casualness, stuffing the rag in her back pocket and wiping her hands on her coveralls. “When’d you get here?” Peggy just blinked, her eyes taking in Angie’s forehead, glistening with sweat, the whisps of hair peaking out from under her bandana, and the assorted black grease marks on her neck, arms, and, probably, face.

_I must look a sight,_ Angie thought with some consternation. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the time? She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. “Um, what time is it?” She asked awkwardly, taking a step back so Peggy wouldn’t smell her. This seemed to shake Peggy out of her trance.

“It’s, er, just after 7:00,” she said, shifting on her feet. Her gaze bounced from Angie’s face to her attire to her hair. But there was something slightly...off about her posture; something that almost seemed suggestive. Was it possible Peggy was--?

_Oh, don’t be ridiculous,_ Angie thought, not even letting herself finish the thought. “Sorry I’m so…like this.” She gestured vaguely to her current state of disarray with what she was sure was a hapless smile. “I must’ve lost track of time.” Angie walked over to the sink in the corner of the shop and washed her hands. “When did you get here? How was your flight?” Feeling hot and slightly embarrassed, she unbuttoned a few buttons near the top of her coveralls to let in some air.

Immediately Peggy’s eyes dipped, taking in the thin sheen of perspiration on Angie’s chest and her lack of a bra. Angie watched her swallow hard, mouth twitching.

“I, uh, should go change,” Angie said finally, wringing her hands. “Let me just put some things away--”

Now Peggy reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Not yet,” she said, sounding slightly strangled. She stepped forward, long fingers fluttering to the lapels of Angie’s coveralls, and pulled her close.

“You didn’t tell me you were a...mechanic,” Peggy said, voice low and velvety, and suddenly there was a stirring in Angie’s stomach. “It, uh, didn’t come up,” she stammered weakly. Peggy’s fingers, cool and slender, slipped inside Angie’s coveralls, ghosting lightly over her throat and collarbone.

Angie’s heartbeat picked up. “I take it you approve,” she said archly, raising an eyebrow. Peggy’s eyes lifted to meet hers, tongue peeking just slightly from between her lips. “Darling, you have no idea,” Peggy whispered, gripping Angie’s lapels again tightly; and suddenly her lips were on Angie’s, her tongue eagerly flicking its way into Angie’s mouth.

Angie barely had time to reciprocate before Peggy, pulled back, breathing heavily. She still held Angie’s lapels, but now she bit her lip thoughtfully, looking past Angie at the pickup truck behind her. Angie noticed the door to the cargo bed was down.

Peggy then looked back at Angie, eyes bright with desire. Angie shivered hard.

“Angie.”

“Peg, I--”

“Does that door lock?” Peggy demanded, already releasing Angie and making her way towards to shop’s front door. Angie’s eyes widened. “Yeah, but Peg, I’m--uh, I really wanna do...this, uh you, I mean--but it’s probably almost time for din--”

The words died in her throat when Peggy turned around, stalking her way back like a jungle cat to where Angie stood stuttering. Before Angie could blink Peggy was kissing her again, deeper this time, harder. She was also walking Angie backwards without breaking the embrace and it was starting to get difficult to string words together.

“But Pegs, dinner,” she repeated, pulling back only slightly. “I’m sure they’ll wait for you, darling, this is a party for you, after all,” Peggy said, unbuttoning her own blouse.

That much was true, though it would be much more accurate to say they didn’t even miss her, what with the attraction of Fred and the addition of Deborah, who had probably arrived by now.

“But your clothes! You look so nice.  And I’m so sweaty an’ all? And what if I get grease on you? That looks like a really nice jacket…” Peggy laughed a little and extricated herself from being intertwined with Angie. Without breaking eye contact, she shimmied out of her skirt, jacket and blouse, laying them across the side of the truck bed. Eyes still locked on Angie’s, she hopped in the cargo bed of the truck and sat, leaning on her palms, legs crossed. One foot stuck out and ran along Angie’s hip, nudging her closer.

“You look like a pinup,” she said breathlessly, taking in Peggy’s black pumps, long bestockinged legs, and her literally heaving chest. She gulped.

But Peggy wasn’t done. In one smooth motion, she snapped off her bra and dangled it from a single finger, smirking wickedly; in one split second, Angie very nearly lunged for her, her hands finding purchase on Peggy’s hips, her mouth landing on an exquisite place just under Peggy’s right ear. She greedily moved her hands down to squeeze Peggy’s breasts, thumbing over erect nipples.

This elicited a soft moan, and Peggy wrapped her legs around Angie’s waist roughly, jerking her closer. Angie’s knee scraped against the bed of the truck but she took no notice, choosing instead to dip her hand under Peggy’s garter and into her knickers to cup her warm, astonishingly wet center, thumb skating across her clit.

“Fuuuck,” Peggy hissed, digging her nails into Angie’s shoulder. Angie grinned. “Your wish is my command,” she said, sliding one, two, and then three fingers to where Peggy was hot and waiting. She thrust into her roughly, again and again, swallowing Peggy’s cries with kisses until she came hard, her body clenching around Angie’s fingers.

“I missed you,” Peggy sighed into Angie’s collarbone after a few moments; Angie bent down and kissed her sweetly. “I missed you too, English.” Peggy brushed her nose against Angie’s with shy affection. “I’m so sorry I missed everything.”

Angie smiled and shrugged a little. “It turned out to be alright. My family came--my whole family!--and my teammates were all so supportive, and I really did do my best. And I got team MVP.” Peggy beamed up at her. “I’m not surprised. I really am so terribly proud of you.” The look on Peggy’s face warmed Angie from head to toe, and for a moment she wondered if she and Peggy could get away with ditching the party completely to to cuddle in Peggy’s bed.

Just then there was a loud knock on the shop door. “Alright, you two. Dinner’s ready and everybody’s hungry. Go on and get dressed and come eat!” Deborah sounded incredibly smug and Angie rolled her eyes and buried her face in Peggy’s neck.

“We’re coming,” Peggy called, kissing the top of Angie’s head. Angie helped Peggy down from the car hood. “What a gentleman,” Peggy remarked with a wink, landing on her feet with a bounce. Her slightly mussed hair, smeared lipstick, and bare breasts were momentarily distracting and Angie forgot what she was doing. Peggy reached for her clothes with a smirk.

After she got dressed, they walked towards the door, holding hands. Peggy brought Angie’s knuckles up to her face and brushed her lips across Angie’s knuckles.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Angie said teasingly. “I’ve never fucked a girl in the bed of a pickup truck before.” She looked at Peggy surreptitiously. “You were very much into the, well, proceedings.” Peggy blushed lightly. “I admit I was quite...aroused.” She paused before continuing. “But you were just so sweaty, and your arms looked so...and your fingers...you weren’t wearing a bra…” She shook her head. “You should have told me you knew your way around an engine.”

Angie pulled her in for a quick kiss before they stepped outside. “Well, now you know.” Peggy poked her and glanced around. “You should be more careful, Angie.” Angie locked the door and headed towards her parents’ house. “You’re so uptight,” she said with a smile.

It was dark as they walked back, but Angie still stole a glance at Peggy. She was again the picture of calm and composure; it was hard to believe just moments earlier she had been wriggling wantonly in the back of truck.

“What are you laughing at?” Peggy said, as they walked up to the house. Angie leaned in so her lips were close to Peggy’s ear. “I just can’t believe I saw your bare breasts in the back of a truck in my dad’s autoshop,” she whispered, giving Peggy’s rear a pinch as they walked in the door.

Peggy had a coughing fit while Angie just laughed.

 

 

“Is Angie here yet?” someone called from somewhere, and Angie answered. “Yeah, I’m here! I’m just gonna go change real quick and I’ll be right down.” She nudged Peggy. “Go talk to Deborah while I wash up, alright?”

Angie grabbed her bag from her old room and went into the bathroom to wash. She went back to her room afterwards, slipping on her (and Peggy’s) favorite green dress. At the top of the stairs, she paused, allowing the sight and sounds of her family and her girlfriend--her girlfriend--to permeate her senses.

Just past the bottom of the stairs she saw her 7-year-old niece, Abigail, seated on a couch in Peggy’s lap, deep in conversation with her. Abigail was talkative; she’d better go rescue Peggy.

“Has anyone eaten yet?” Angie asked, gently pulling one of Abigail’s pigtails. Peggy looked up with a smile, eyes bright. “We were waiting for you.”

“I like Peggy lots,” Abigail announced, sliding off Peggy’s lap to give Angie a hug. Angie nodded. “She’s pretty special, isn’t she?”

“She talks kinda funny though,” Abigail added, peering at Peggy from Angie’s side. “I talk funny? You’re missing your two front teeth,” Peggy teased. Abigail giggled and dashed out of sight.

Angie sat down on the couch. “How’re you holdin’ up?” she asked, daring a quick squeeze of Peggy’s hand. Peggy smiled. “Fairly well, I think. You really have a lovely, if quite large, family.” Angie smiled back. “They’re alright, I guess.”

“They all seem to love you very much, Angie. Can’t imagine why.” Peggy laughed as Angie kicked her shin.

“Oh, shut up, English. Let’s go eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the extended wait for this final chapter!
> 
> Notes:
> 
> -I wanted to end with angst, but in the end I went with cute and schmaltzy OH WELL  
> -The Rockford Peaches was a real team in the women's league; they were the team the movie A League of Their Own was based on. They were (eventually) one of the best teams in the league, and won the championship more than any other  
> -Angie's team, the Chicago Asters, is fictional, but there was a Chicago team in 1948. Unfortunately, it didn't do well and the team folded after one season. I obviously went in a different direction!  
> -I was intentionally light on the details of Peggy's mission--I still don't know shit about Marvel and I had no wish to embarrass myself any more than I already have  
> -Also light on the actual baseball playing bc i am bored by sports not involving horses  
> -Period typical usage of words now considered racist/homophobic/ableist slurs; my apologies if you're offended  
> -The queer themed newsletter circulated by the violet league is based on something similar circulated in california, I believe, in the 40s, and was mailed to people across the country for years before it was shut down. I can't remember where I read this, but I'll update tomorrow when I find it  
> -The Halloween/New Year's Eve drag balls, just like nearly everything I've written about Bronzeville so far, were incredibly real, though i've taken some liberties with timelines and dates. Please check out these links, you won't regret it:  
> 1\. http://www.outhistory.org/exhibits/show/queer-bronzeville/part-2/nancy-kelly (near the end)  
> 2\. http://www.windycitymediagroup.com/lgbt/Queer-Bronzeville-African-American-LGBTs-on-Chicagos-South-Side-1900-1985/36389.html (near the beginning, but really just read the whole article)
> 
> Finally: okay I know I said this was the final chapter, and it is, but i've realized there's a few things I wanted to add so expect a SHORT epilogue within the next day or two.
> 
> Hit me up with feedback here or on my tumblr (yourfacelessdistraction)!


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